


SKAM: Shadyside

by tokenMWM



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Aged up characters, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Coming Out, Drama, High School AU, M/M, Mental Illness, Parents, Skam France - Freeform, Skam Season 3, drug/alcohol use, sixteen+, skam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-04-11 19:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 172,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19116397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokenMWM/pseuds/tokenMWM
Summary: Maybe in another universe, Cyrus had friends that helped him figure out his “stuff” in middle school, but not here. Here, Cyrus has your classic group of high school boys as his best friends, and he had to push down a lot of who he is to make that work. He has parents that stayed together way too long, and a mom who may have gone off the deep end. And now there’s this new guy at school that he can’t seem to get out of his head. All he ever wanted was for things to go smoothly for once.





	1. I Think I’m in Love...

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that follows the story of Skam: France. The characters have been aged up (16-18 yo) because of this, but here’s a few big warnings before we get started:
> 
> There will be mentions and descriptions and scenes of these underage characters partaking in drugs (pot) and alcohol, but I won’t be glorifying it or focusing too much on it.
> 
> Unlike the actual Skam, I will NOT be describing, depicting, or in anyway writing any sex scenes. But the characters, as older teenagers, will occasionally talk about sex, and there will be implications that characters have had sex.
> 
> A depiction of mental illness is at the center of this story. I will try to do it well but if that’s something that makes you uncomfortable, I suggest you skip this story.
> 
> I really hope that this is something we can all enjoy, but I know there's a chance this will blow up in my face. Anyway... hope you enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 1: Cyrus’s junior year of high school is finally starting up. Since he’s adjusting to some recent changes in his life, he’s really just trying to get through the day without causing a fuss. But parties, friends, blackmail, girls, and a mysterious new senior seem to want to make that... impossible.

**_Saturday, 4:48 PM_**

The park was remarkably busy considering the time of day and the intense heat that made everything uncomfortable and sticky. A surprising amount of health nuts were jogging around the lake and, as far as the brown-haired boy sitting on the bench was concerned, they were all crazy. Cyrus wasn’t sure how people could motivate themselves to go for jogs normally, but the idea of running in the afternoon, still sweltering from the late summer heat, sounded like a death wish to the unathletic sixteen-year-old’s ears.

His friends, Jonah and Marty, they were the kind of people who would be comfortable out here—sweating their asses off, trying to impress the small group of college girls doing yoga on the other side of the lake. Because they were idiots. And athletes. And way too obsessed with getting laid. They were also late. Fifteen minutes late, the dark-haired teen realized as he stared at his phone. They were supposed to all meet up before heading to The Spoon and deciding how their little group would be spending the last weekend of their summer vacation.

But it seemed that plan had changed.

His phone buzzed, and for a brief moment he hoped he was about to see an apology, an excuse, a ‘be there in five!’

Instead he saw a message from his mom. A link to god-knows-what-website, but from the URL he knew it had something to do with the upcoming start of the school year. Whatever it was, no matter how potentially useful the voice in the back of his head said it might be, he had no interest in reading it.

As he dismissed the notification, ignoring the possibility that there might have been more to the message from his mother, the phone buzzed again. And again.

_Marty: sry. change of plans. no more Spoon._

_Marty: my cousin finally gave me the number for her weed hookup in South Shady._

_Marty: this shit’s the fucckn best. We’re gettin some for tonight_

Cyrus sighed. Great. It appeared some more decisions had already been made for him.

_Cyrus: tonight? Did we decide what we’re doing tonight, cause..._

_Jonah: Gus didn’t tell you?_

_Jonah: Libby Jacobs is throwing a party_

_Cyrus: ok?_

_Gus: oh hey, guys. Yeah, sorry Cy, totally forgot to tell you last night. Starts at 9. Can you make it?_

As he stared at his phone, the skinny teen chuckled to himself. Could he make it? Three months ago, such short notice, especially for a party, would have ended up with a hard ‘no.’ Not even worth trying to get that past his mom. But that wasn’t really a problem anymore, was it? Even if he and his friends still weren’t used to that shift in freedom.

Could he make it? Oh, absolutely.

Did he want to? Well...

_Cyrus: Where is it?_

_Gus: her house_

_Cyrus: no shit, dumbass, where is her house? I don’t have a car, remember_

_Jonah: it’s on the east side of town. Marty and I can pick you up when we get back from South Shady. cmon man, let’s send the summer off right!_

Cyrus sighed. He’d been hoping for something more along the lines of a movie night. He certainly hadn’t planned on going to a party. At the house of someone he barely knew. It all sounded... exhausting.

_Jonah: you can stay at my place after if you want_

The gentle smile that found itself on Cyrus’s face was unconsciously formed, but the eye-roll that followed was executed purposefully—even if no one was around to see it. Jonah always knew how to get him to go along with whatever he wanted.

Unsurprising, considering they’d been best friends for almost five years.

For a moment he was distracted by yet another runner passing by his bench. This one, a fit guy probably around his age, shirtless and drenched in sweat, passed by so close that he actually clipped the toe of Cyrus’s shoe as he sprinted past. He was there and then gone, moving by without a pause, but Cyrus found himself watching the other teen’s back long after the pain in his toe had finished aching. It was the vibrations going off in his hand that finally brought him back to reality, embarrassed to realize he had been staring. The new messages on his phone provided no answers as to what might have caught his attention, but they did provide a decent enough distraction to keep him from having to think about it too much.

With a sigh, and the purposeful ignoring of yet another message from his mom, Cyrus decided that it wouldn’t hurt to give in to his friend’s demands. He was a free man, after all! A free man who had been forced to turn down exactly this type of thing way too many times in his short life.

After all, parties were supposed to be fun, right?

_Cyrus: yeah. sure. fine. what time you gonna pick me up?_

**_Saturday, 10:15 PM_ **

The party was jumpin'. The music was thumpin'. And Cyrus was... slumpin'. The counter of the tiny kitchenette dug into his back as yet another person shuffled past his little group of friends. It had been probably half an hour since anyone had even looked their way, but that was sort of to be expected.

Were they outcasts? No. Not exactly. In fact, Jonah was downright popular. But Jefferson was a school full of students that kept to their friend groups, and they were much better friends with each other than they were with any of the people dancing—well, jumping—to the music. Or the group playing a drinking game a few feet away. Or the guys turning the bathroom into a hotbox. Besides, most of these party-goers were seniors—some of whom he knew from advanced classes, most of whom he had never spoken to before—and he, Jonah, Marty, and Gus were perfectly happy with having their own private conversation.

Well, Marty seemed enthused, at least

“I'm telling you guys, as soon as we got here, she was looking right at me," the older teen sighed, a goofily proud smile gracing his face as he lifted a beer to his lips. "She was giving me the look."

"And what look is that?" Jonah asked, rolling his eyes.

"You know... THE look. The—tell me I don't have to give you the fuckin' birds and the bees talk, man. The. Look." Marty looked flush, which wasn't much of a surprise. Despite being the tallest and largest—all muscle, as he would frequently lie—he was also the biggest lightweight. It only took one beer for him to get giddy, and he was already on his fourth, so slurred words probably weren't far away. The other boys had nursed their beers a bit more conservatively—especially Cyrus, who, despite multiple attempts by his friends this summer, had yet to pick up an appreciation for the bitter drink—and were much closer to sober than not.

"From Libby? Are you sure, man?" Jonah smirked.

"Are you sure it wasn't the 'who the hell are you and why are you in my house' look?" Gus added, leaning over Jonah's shoulder with a sarcastic grin on his freckled face.

"Yeah, man, you're not exactly her type..." Jonah laughed as he took another sip of his beer. Marty feigned a drunk approximation of looking offended, turning to Cyrus for support with unfocused, pleading eyes. But the youngest and shortest of the group saw no reason not to assume his best friend was telling the truth. After all, Jonah was the one who'd actually dated the girl for a short time back when he was a freshman.

"Not her type? How am I not her type? Hmm? I'm hot. She's hot. Therefore! We are automatically each other's types! C'mon, Cy. Back me up on this." Exasperated, the intoxicated teen reached over to grab Cyrus's shoulder, giving it an all too solid shake.

"I'd give you both a... five out of ten," the shorter boy joked, half-distracted as he scanned the party for its host. Libby Jacobs was one of the girls dancing (jumping) to the booming bass-line of the music, presently getting very close with a senior guy Cyrus didn't know the name of. With a soft smirk, he silently wished her luck before turning back to his awestruck friends.

"What!" The boys all echoed each other in a shout of outrage and laughter. Jonah seemed to find Cyrus’s assessment the funniest. Marty, for some reason, appeared to have taken it seriously.

"How could you say that!" Marty asked, devastated and very obviously drunk. "No no no. You don't think I'm hot? Fine. You clearly have... no idea what women find attractive in men," as he spoke, he dramatically flexed his biceps in what was clearly supposed to be an alpha-male pose. "But how could you say that about Libby! She's gorgeous! Is it because she's deaf? Are you a, uh... a deafist!"

"What—No! No, she's just, well... not my type, I guess." The host of the party, as far as Cyrus knew, was an amazing person. And was also, as far as he knew, extremely pretty. It, just... it really wasn't anything against Libby. It was never anything like that.

It’s just that, as Cyrus watched her wrap her arms around that guy on the dance floor, the only thing that came to mind was... meh.

"Pfft, he just knows he has no chance with her," Jonah joked, taking a step back to lean against the kitchen sink before draining the beer in his hand.

"So if Libby’s so horrible, what the hell is your type, Goodman?" Gus asked, poking at Cyrus's chest to draw his attention away from the crowd. 

Ah. The million dollar question.

Cyrus's brown eyes scanned the crowd of people he mostly didn’t know, trying to find something that seemed like an answer. His mind jumped from girl to girl. She was too short; she was too tall; she was too... just nothing to catch his attention. No one jumped out. But he knew that wouldn’t be a good enough response. He just wanted the conversation to move on, already. He was used to the conversation always moving on, usually with Jonah's help, but tonight, that didn't seem like it was going to happen.

His friends were waiting for him to say something, and that was making him feel more and more jittery as the seconds ticked by in silence. Finally, after what felt like ages, the crowd seemed to part, and... there. A girl. Dancing with her friend as the music switched to a song Cyrus could actually recognize, twirling around until she was too dizzy to stand, was a senior girl Cyrus thought he might have seen before. Conventionally attractive, yeah, with brown hair and a button nose, tall and skinny but not too tall or too skinny. He doubted his friends would be able to find a flaw with her. But what really caught Cyrus's attention was the dinosaur print blouse she was wearing.

No matter the world, no matter his age, no matter how many times his friends told him it was lame, Cyrus Goodman would always love dinosaurs.

"Her," he nodded in the girl's direction, trying to direct his friends' attention on to her and away from him. 

"The blonde one?" Gus asked, pointing in a way that was so obvious and so obnoxious that even Marty reached out to pull his arm down. "Yeah, she's nice."

"No, the brunette. Wearing the, um... the skirt with the leggings?" The crowd shifted and the two girls disappeared into a sea of bodies and flashing lights.

"They all dress like that, we need real details," Marty grinned, draining his beer and tossing the empty bottle towards an overflowing trash can. "How big were her tits?"

"Oi!" Jonah slapped Marty's chest.

"Way to objectify half the population, asshole," Cyrus rolled his eyes, thankful that Marty's boorishness was giving him a chance to change the subject. "Read a fucking newspaper, it's 2019."

The drunken athlete held his hands up in defense, taking a small step back to press himself against the counter. "I'm just saying, I like big boobs. Nothing wrong with that."

"He's right, there's nothing wrong with that," Gus echoed. "It's not his fault he's too dumb to know what he should and shouldn't say."

"Yes, it is!" Jonah and Cyrus echoed, before breaking into a light laugh. Amber, before she'd left for DC, had always liked to remind Cyrus that teenage boys were idiots. And Cyrus felt confident in the knowledge that at least one of his friends was ready and eager to prove that true every single day.

"Fine!" Marty rolled his eyes and started digging in his pocket. "If I'm so horrible, then I guess you guys wouldn't want any of... this!" With a flourish and a cocky smile, the taller boy produced a small ziplock bag stuffed with dark, gray-green buds. 

Cyrus had no idea what might make this particular bag of weed anything special, but his friends certainly seemed excited. Not that he ever claimed to be some kind of marijuana expert or anything. He'd only tried it for the first time the previous month—in Jonah’s backyard under a full moon—and hadn’t even seen another sample of it until right that moment. As Marty shook the respectably stuffed pouch in front of the other three boys, Cyrus recalled the gentle, slightly overwhelming, but ultimately pleasant floating feeling he had experienced the first time sitting under the stars with his best friend. It was nice. And freeing. And his mother would be absolutely appalled if she ever found out—and that was nice and freeing too.

"You only paid for half of that, asshole," Jonah reminded their drunk friend, snatching the baggie from his slow-to-react hand and examining it closely. "Hey, what the fuck? There was definitely more than this three hours ago."

"Well, yeah, man. I had to test it out," Marty shrugged, pulling a small tin from his back pocket and opening it up to reveal a half-burned joint. "Made it while you were in the shower doing... I don't even want to know for, like, an hour."

"It's called bathing, asshole," Jonah glared, grabbing the joint from the tin before Marty could pull it away again. "You should try it sometime."

"So, what? Now you’re keeping the whole bag? That’s... bullshit," Marty whined as Jonah dug his lighter out of his pocket re-ignited the end of the joint with practiced ease.

"Fuck no. My dad's like a bloodhound, he'd find it by the end of the week and flush it down the drain."

"Then give it back!"

"You have proven yourself untrustworthy," Jonah grinned, leaning forward to blow a thick cloud of smoke into Marty's face. "You'll smoke it all before we get a chance to enjoy it."

Cyrus took note of the fact that Jonah hadn't let out even the smallest cough as he'd inhaled the acrid smoke, something he remembered being unavoidable with every hit he'd ever taken.

"I can hold onto it," Gus offered, eagerly accepting the joint as Jonah held it out to him. 

"Fuck no!" Jonah and Marty yelled simultaneously.

"I wouldn't trust you with a fucking pencil during the SAT," Marty added, shaking his head.

"Cy-guy, does Reed care if you have pot in the apartment?" Jonah asked, looking lovingly at the baggie of illicit material in his hand. 

"Uh... no? I mean, that seems like a safe assumption, but I haven't exactly asked yet. But, yeah. I'm pretty sure the only thing he'd be upset about is if I didn't offer him any."

"You take it then. For now. Just don't let Reed swipe it all, yeah? 'Til we can split it up fairly, at least." Without waiting for an answer, Jonah pushed the drugs into Cyrus's hand. The baggie felt weirdly warm in his hand as he stared at it. He wanted to refuse. It was his instinct. But that was an instinct born of fifteen years of living under an insanely—literally, actually insane—controlling mother, so, since moving out at the beginning of the summer, he had started training himself to ignore that little voice. The one that always said 'no.' For better or for worse, he was getting sort of good at it.

"Yeah, fine, just shut up about it, okay? People are staring." Hoping to avoid unwanted attention, he gripped the baggie and shoved it into his pocket with his phone, trying to look completely nonchalant as he did so.

Right at that moment, as his friends were frantically checking to see if anyone had been scoping out their score, two people barged into the over-cramped kitchenette. A desperate call of, "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" followed a blonde girl as she shoved Jonah aside, lunged for the sink, and almost immediately began vomiting. An impressive amount of vomiting. Her retching was loud enough to make the boys shudder, and mostly covered up the sound of her friend's voice as she muttered something about, "I told you not to try that shot, Maria." Cyrus was about to turn away—take a bathroom break and give the girls the privacy they very clearly needed—when Jonah caught his eye. The other teen was excited. Unreasonably energetic, in fact, as he pointed silently at the girl in front of him. No, not the one puking violently into the sink. The one holding that girl's hair.

Shoulder length brown hair. Leggings with a skirt. And, to top it all off, a dinosaur blouse.

Oh.

It didn't take a genius to decipher the look on Jonah's face. 'Make a move! This is perfect!' His amazingly blue eyes were screaming louder than words ever could as the older teen took a subtle step back.

"Is your friend doing okay?" Marty’s slightly slurred words broke the awkward silence—well not really silence, what with all the retching—first. "Do you need any help?"

"I don't know, maybe you could stop asking stupid questions?" The brunette sighed, looking up from her friend momentarily as she re-gathered the handful of wild blonde hair she was holding.

"Oooh, she's rude," Jonah cooed, "so that's Cy's type."

"What? Oh, no. Shit. I'm sorry. I just..." The girl used her free hand to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. She looked flustered and a bit overwhelmed, but her eyes were apologetic. "I wasn't planning to end the night standing over a sink, y'know? But, well, that's the life of the designated driver, I guess. Sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you, uh... fine young gentlemen."

Cyrus nodded, perfectly happy to leave it at that, with everyone comfortable and in a good mood. But that plan was ruined when Marty literally pushed him forward until he was almost chest to chest with the girl in front of him. Apparently, a move was going to be made whether he wanted to or not.

Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, the younger teen prepared himself for disaster.

This... wasn't exactly Cyrus's forte. He could charm adults, yeah. Aunts, Rabbis, the occasional teacher were no problem. But girls were a different story. Every time he'd tried to summon what limited charisma he had to try to impress the fairer sex, it was like he ran headfirst into a wall of... apathy. He just couldn't motivate himself to pull out any of the tricks his friends had tried for years to teach him. So, as Marty gave him yet another minuscule shove from behind, he decided to try a different approach. Calling on all of his unreasonably limitless politeness instead of the cocky charm his friends usually employed, Cyrus pushed down the anxiety bubbling in his stomach at the thought what he was about to do, and plastered a smile on his face.

"Hey, it's uh... no problem. Right? We get it, your friend is sick, you're stressed, we're probably... weird. No hard feelings. But do you want some help?" He paused as the girl eyed him up and down. He could feel her evaluating him. He knew he wasn't the hottest guy in the world, or the school, but... maybe she would like what she saw? Maybe that would be enough, for once? He wasn't that bad, right? "Uh... Marty, would you mind grabbing her friend's hair? Here." Not really letting himself think things through—because thinking would mean listening to the voice that was saying this all felt very wrong—he grabbed the still-lit joint from Gus's hand and offered it to the brunette in front of him. Because it's polite to share. "No uh... no reason for your night to be ruined, right?"

The girl paused, eyed her friend as the unfortunate girl heaved another stomachful of bile into the sink, and then shrugged. Tentatively, Marty reached over and took the handful of hair from the brunette's grasp—the trio of other boys momentarily held their breath, waiting to see if their friend was about to ruin things with a creepy comment, but the moment passed and there was only silence.

"I'm Iris," The now free brunette accepted the offered joint with a soft grin, stepping over to stand next to him and letting Marty take her place behind her blonde friend. 

"One of my favorite flowers," Cyrus smiled back.

"You have opinions on flowers? How sophisticated," Iris smirked, taking a hit with a gentle cough and offering it to Cyrus. His instinct was to refuse. So he accepted.

As the hot smoke burned his lungs and the inevitable coughing began, he resigned himself to flowing with the bad decisions of the night. This was supposed to be what he was looking for, right? A crazy party, a night out with friends, and now maybe a girl? What was the worst that could happen?

"Cyrus knows everything, he's like a random trivia machine," Jonah grinned as he grabbed the joint back for himself.

"Cyrus, hmm?" The boy nodded, and once again felt like he was being evaluated as Iris looked him over for a second time. "Give me some time. I'll come up with a fact for your name, too."

"Well, uh... when you do, I've got some great ones about the eye to follow up with. 'Cause, y'know, that's also, a, um, an iris."

Iris laughed, though Cyrus couldn't tell if it was because of what he'd said or the awkward way he'd said it. From Jonah and Gus's excited reactions, he figured he should count it as a win, regardless.

"Oooh, I like a man with facts," Iris grinned, reaching over to pinch the collar of Cyrus's shirt. "Sounds to me like we should keep this going some other time."

Cyrus knew this was supposed to be... good. It was supposed to be good when Iris leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth while his friends let out an ear-splitting cheer. It was supposed to be good when Iris looked over at her friend, apparently decided she was in good hands, and then looked back at Cyrus before nodding towards a relatively quiet hallway off the side of the kitchen. And it was supposed to be good when Cyrus put on a polite smile and followed, and the thumping music grew a bit quieter and flashing lights less vivid.

It was supposed to be good when he leaned against the wall, not sure what to do with his hands, and Iris leaned up to start the real kissing.

But it wasn't

And it wasn't just his instincts that told him that. It was his body, and his brain, and his stomach, and definitely his heart. It wasn't Cyrus's first kiss; it was just the latest in a short list of kisses that did absolutely nothing for him.

If Iris noticed his lack of enthusiasm, her reaction was interrupted by a series of powerful knocks on the door of the crowded garage apartment they were in. It seemed like the whole party paused for just a second, everyone waiting to see if they had simultaneously hallucinated the sound. But it came again. Three quick knocks, followed by a muffled voice saying, "Shadyside police. We've had a couple of noise complaints here tonight."

It was like a gunshot starting a race, the way that people scattered. One second, Iris was in front of him, and the next she was being swept out a back door with a crowd of people. By the time Cyrus had realized what was going on—the idea of running from the police instead of doing whatever they said was still very new to his mind—it seemed like half the party had cleared out. He pushed his way back to the kitchen only to find it empty, his friends nowhere to be seen. Frantic, he pulled out his phone to see if there were any messages from Jonah telling him what to do. His disappointment at seeing nothing but a backlog of notifications from his mom—and one from Reed—kept him too distracted to notice that something else had fallen out of his pocket at the same time.

He heard the door open, felt his adrenaline spike as he heard a set of older male voices coming from just the other side of the wall. In a flash of panic, the terrified teen just copied the first other person he saw, and within seconds was next to a boy he knew from Algebra, trying to make his way clumsily down the tree next to the back window.

He considered it a personal victory that he was able to make it down without bleeding.

**_Sunday, 11:27AM_ **

All Cyrus wanted was to do was sleep. Sleeping in past 9AM was still new to him, and he wanted to enjoy it before school swooped in and made it impossible. But the buzzing of his phone, and the pounding of his head, and the burning of his scraped hands had other ideas.

As he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and ran a hand through his messy morning hair, he took in the sight of the room around him. His room. It was messy, much messier than a room belonging to him had ever been allowed to be before. There were still boxes left to be unpacked, stuffed with winter clothes he wouldn't have even remembered to grab were it not for Jonah's help. Not that he had anywhere to put them. Every shelf, every drawer, every inch of space was stuffed with his clothes and books and personal items.

That's what tends to happen when you try to stuff sixteen years of life into one tiny apartment's bedroom.

Finally, his eyes landed on his phone. There were... a lot of messages.

_Mom: I prayed for you last night. You start your junior year tomorrow, the hardest and most important that you will face, and it brought me to tears knowing that you don't want me there to help you and to guide you. I'm terrified of all the challenges you aren't ready to face. Your school sent me your class schedule, but don't worry my son. I've already written up a study schedule for you. It'll be here when you realize you need it. Love you._

His mom wasn't supposed to be sending him messages, wasn't really supposed to be reaching out, but when had rules and the like ever stopped her before. Cyrus sighed, and considered the possibility of telling his dad, letting him try to deal with it. But opening up that text thread and reminding himself that their last exchange had been almost a month prior stopped him cold. Even if his dad responded, he'd want to deal with his ex-wife even less than Cyrus did.

He was thankful when a message from Jonah knocked him out of that particular train of thought.

_Jonah: last night kicked ass! well, until the end. did you get out okay? apparently the cops found a ton of shit when they searched the apartment._

_Jonah: poor Libby. I think she's in deep shit._

Immediately, Cyrus's eyes flashed to the back pocket of his jeans, sitting crumpled on the floor of his room. He hadn't been in the best state of mind when he'd gotten home, he barely remembered falling into bed, but he definitely didn't remember finding a place to hide his friends' stash of weed. Throwing his phone onto the pillow, he lunged for his pants, quickly searching the back pockets, then the front, inverting every possible pouch, even searching the chest pocket of the shirt he'd been wearing that he knew would be empty. But there was nothing there. A quick seach confirmed that the baggie wasn't on the floor either.

He tried to recall when the weed had left his pocket. It could have fallen out while he was climbing the tree. Or the kid from Algebra could have grabbed it without him noticing. Or any time on the lonely walk home when he'd checked his phone ten-dozen times to see if his friends were ever gonna tell him where they'd disappeared to.

Or it could have fallen out in the apartment. And now poor, sweet, technically-not-innocent Libby was in legal trouble because of him.

Any attempts to figure out what to do with this moral dilemma were shattered as the door to his room burst open, and the loud, grating voice of his roommate made his head start pounding once again.

"Here he is," Reed shouted, a devilish smile on his face as he held his phone up and pointed it at the bed. Instantly Cyrus fell back, pulling his puffy comforter over his mostly naked legs. "Already awake and ready to greet the day!"

"Reed, you have got to learn to knock!" Cyrus shouted as the blond rolled over his bed to pull open the curtains.

"And you should really learn to lock the door!" Reed shouted gleefully as he fell onto the pillows next to the flustered boy. "Now, shall we see what our young ward wears to sleep after a night out?" the obnoxious blond asked the phone as the yanked the comforter up, turning the phone so that its camera could catch a sight of Cyrus's lemon-decorated boxers before the other boy could tug the sheets back over his legs. "Come on, Cy, say good morning to Amber!"

Caught between embarrassment, aggravation, and exhaustion, Cyrus didn't know how to react. A muted "morning" was all he could muster as his other roommate Lester fell onto his bed on the other side of him, trapping him in place. There on the screen was the slightly pixelated image of a girl he really should have been greeting with much more enthusiasm, had this wake-up call been in any way reasonable.

"Good Morning, Cyrus," Amber grinned, her image stuttering slightly thanks to Reed's crappy data plan.

"Hi Amber," Cyrus tried again to summon some energy, ultimately failing as he felt crushed in his own bed. He felt bad. He wanted to always show how thankful he was to the girl on the screen—Amber was the one who had offered her room and negotiated with her roommates when Cyrus's desperate need to get out of his house had aligned with her transferring to a college in DC. But his mood was too sour, and he was too tired, even for the presence of his literal savior to cheer him up.

"Okay, nice enthusiasm, Goodman," Reed rolled his eyes as he cuddled up way too close so that all three of the roommates could be in the picture for his old friend. "Excuse him, Amber, you know how teenagers get. Face covered in pimples, can't lose his virginity, all that jazz. It's a tough life."

"Oh, leave him alone. He looks like he just woke up," Amber's voice scolded through the phone.

"All he does is sleep! Sleeps, shits, and showers, that's it! You said he'd be interesting, but I could have bought a hamster for more entertainment, and he wouldn't eat my shit!" Reed's grin betrayed the look of annoyance he was trying to give Cyrus, and the younger teen couldn't help but roll his eyes. He wasn't exactly close with Reed and Lester—living with them was more a necessity than a choice—but it seemed their favorite method of interacting with him was through teasing. He hadn't figured out yet if it was a form of hazing, or a subtle reminder that, well... he didn't really fit into the little home they had.

"I'd have preferred the hamster," Lester smirked, poking Cyrus's side through the comforter. "Probably smell better."

"Oh the smell!" Reed pinched his nose dramatically but made no move to get farther away.

"Reed, I'm..." Cyrus sighed. "I'm literally right here. Can we stop talking about me like I'm in another room?"

"Don't worry, I can smell you when you're in another room just as well." Without acknowledging Cyrus's eye-roll—and subtle attempt to sniff under his arms—Reed shifted the phone to fully face him and started addressing Amber once again. "So how's it going? Is school starting? Are the guys in DC hot? Spill it, Amber. Have you killed the orange creamsicle yet?"

"Oh it's... y'know," Amber shrugged. "Thinking of you guys a lot. What are your plans for today?"

"Hopefully Cyrus will take a shower," Reed continued, reaching over to wrap his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. Cyrus tried to wiggle away only for Lester to squeeze even closer, trapping him once again. "Lester and I'll probably find a way to solve world hunger. You know, the usual. And what about you?'

"Oh, well, y'know school hasn't started yet and I barely know anyone outside of my internship here, so... I'll probably just sit around all day watching The Office on Netflix. Maybe cry about how expensive my books are going to be this semester."

"Well that's what you get for leaving us," Lester scolded, leaning over Cyrus to get closer to the camera. "Instead of paying a third the price and sharing books with us, you're lonely and broke."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll figure something out," Amber sighed, and Cyrus finally shoved Lester and Reed enough to get a modicum of space for himself. "So, Cyrus, want to give me a tour of the apartment?"

"Amber, you lived here for a year, you know what the apartment looks like," Reed responded as Cyrus tried to force his way out of his bed.

"I just want to see if it's better or worse now that there are no women living there," Amber smiled. "See if it's any better with Cyrus's keen design eye."

"Considering Reed won't even let me move the coffee table closer to the couch, I don't think my eye for anything holds much weight," Cyrus sighed, grabbing the phone from Reed and doing a quick spin around his room. "As you can see, my room is still a disaster. Um... let’s see... Reed won't let me hang any pictures in the hallway. Ooh, and the kitchen is, well... probably a biohazard by now."

"Glad to see you're all going to die without me," Amber laughed as Cyrus walked quickly through the apartment. It's not that he didn't want to have a nice, leisurely conversation with his friend. He was just distracted. "The living room is a mess," he panned the phone across the couch and table shoved to one side, a white sheet loosely hung on the wall, "because Reed was trying to take some, quote-unquote, 'tasteful' nudes for his Grindr. And... that's everything."

"Doesn't look too bad," Amber smiled, her image stuttering again as she shifted to be closer to her camera. "Reed's not abusing you too badly? Hasn't corrupted you too much?"

"Uh... no?" Cyrus tried not to think about three separate times he'd walked in on Reed hooking up with some random guy on their couch. "I mean, nothing I can't deal with."

"And you can still cover the rent?" Amber's voice dropped to a whisper as she took on an almost-maternal tone of voice. Cyrus knew she was just being a good friend, but considering they had originally gotten to know each other when he was ten and Amber was his occasional babysitter... he understood why she worried about him but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Yeah," Cyrus tried to keep his voice from getting short and exposing his discomfort. "My dad still feels guilty enough to pay me my allowance."

"Well that's good," Amber smiled. "And what about the rest of your life? Ready for school to start? Jonah and all them good? Ooh, are you seeing anyone?" Amber's voice turned sticky sweet as she waggled her eyebrows at the camera.

Was he seeing anyone? The question made him recall the end of the previous night. The girl. Iris. Did he want that to be the start of something? The way his heart sank at the idea told him that the answer was 'no,' but he couldn't say why. She was pretty, she seemed interesting, she seemed interested. But the butterflies in his stomach were pretty clear that some part of him was not returning that interest.

"Uh... Oh hey, Reed. Yeah." Wincing slightly, Cyrus looked away from the camera at an empty corner of the room and sighed. "Sorry, Amber. Reed wants his phone back."

"Oh, okay, well—"

"Have fun in DC! Cause an international scandal or something! Talk to you later!" Before Amber could say anything else, he plastered a smile on his face and ended the call.

"What was that?" Reed traipsed into the living room, scratching lazily at his exposed belly button. For some reason, he always insisted on sleeping in a crop-top. He must've had dozens of them.

"Here's your phone back," Cyrus shoved the black brick into his roommate's hand as he pushed past him into the hallway, almost running into Lester as he popped out of the bathroom. "And learn to knock!"

**_Monday, 12:21 PM_ **

"I thought the first day of school was supposed to be easy," Gus whined, leaning against a column in the school courtyard. "I've already got three hours of homework and it's only lunch!"

"That's what you nerds get for taking so many AP's," Marty joked, pointing his finger at Cyrus and Gus. "You did this to yourselves."

"Well excuse me for wanting to do something with my life," Cyrus wrinkled his nose as he examined the granola bar he had just fished out of one of the vending machines. It looked pretty pathetic, but until his Dad gave him the next month's allowance, it was pretty much all he could afford for lunch. 

"Well excuse me for wanting to get laid before I'm thirty," Marty winked, before bursting into laughter. "That girl at the party? Maria? I think I might have a chance with her."

"Dude, no you don't," Jonah fell against the wall next to Cyrus, handing him an orange from his bag without a word.

"I was her knight in shining armor, man, I saved her. Of course, I do. It's, like, nature or some shit. Girls love a guy who helps them when they're in need."

"You held her hair while she puked," Cyrus gratefully dug into the orange, putting the still-wrapped granola bar in his backpack for later. "A knight in shining armor you are not."

"Then why'd she thank me so much? Hmm?"

"It's called being nice," Jonah rolled his eyes, taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. "If you learn how to tell the difference, you might just—"

"Hi, there! How are you guys doing?"

Cyrus looked up from his orange to see the girl that had suddenly made her way into their conversation. Buffy Driscoll. He knew her, sort of, in the way that you sort of know most of the people in your class. But he wasn't sure he had ever really talked to her before. She was one of those people that always seemed to stick her nose into things and Cyrus preferred to stay out of business that wasn't his, so he tried not to cross paths with her too often.

Plus, he'd seen her stalking through the halls, pissed off after her girls' basketball team lost a big game once. She could be terrifying.

"Uh... we're good?" Cyrus shrugged, nodding to each of his friends who all vaguely acknowledged their agreement.

"Awesome!" Buffy was smiling big and seemed to have way too much energy—or at least way more than Cyrus could have possibly mustered halfway through the first day of school. "So, what are you, um... gentlemen doing this Friday?"

"Uh... nothing planned, I guess?" Gus responded as Cyrus shoved another segment of orange into his mouth.

"Perfect! Then you are invited to..." with a flourish, Buffy pulled a small stack of flyers out of her back pocket and handed them to each of the boys, "a very special event."

"Lucky us..." Jonah responded with a forced smile as the rest of the group tried to read what was on the postcard sized papers.

"Take Back the Common Room?" Gus read out, looking up with confusion. "We have a common room?"

"That we do!" Buffy responded energetically, though her voice was starting to sound... a little strained. "Well, it used to be the senior lounge, but they closed that down a few years ago. But our wonderful class rep Andi found an article about how having a common space for students is linked to improved school spirit and improved test scores, as well as fewer detentions, and Metcalf agreed to let us open it back up!"

"So a room to..."

"Sounds sort of lame," Marty shrugged from his place on the ground. 

"Not if we make it not lame," Buffy replied, smile clearly becoming more forced by the second. "Metcalf is giving us pretty much free reign here. If we work together, we could all make something pretty kick ass."

"Sounds great!" Jonah smiled wide. "Unfortunately you'll have to do it without me."

"Uh, yeah, actually we can't on Friday," Cyrus added. He had to admit, the idea of a student lounge sounded cool, and maybe Buffy would be able to do something fun with it, but the last thing he needed was to be roped into some group project where they would suck up all his time and probably any free spending money, too. He wanted to help. His instincts told him to help. But the idea of it just made him feel even more exhausted. "Sorry."

"Yeah, sorry," Gus echoed.

"We got a thing," Jonah added.

"Okay, I'm not quite as dumb as you guys, so I do see what you're doing here." Buffy crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she sent a glare at Jonah. "You do realize that this is, like, the one chance you'll have to actually make this hell hole a bit less lame, right?" The smile was completely gone, as was the energetic voice. Cyrus mentally congratulated her for lasting as long as she had.

"That sounds like the plan of someone who had never actually met our principal," Jonah replied, crossing his arms over his own chest with the hint of a smug smile on his lips. "You know anything you do, Metcalf will just ruin. It's pointless."

"That's why we need as much support as we can get," Buffy explained, sounding frustrated. "Even from idiots like you, the more people we have behind this, the easier it will be to turn it into something we want."

"Of course," Marty grinned, staring at Buffy until Gus slapped him in the shoulder.

"Sorry," Cyrus offered. He was sorry. But Jonah was right. There was no way this wasn't going to be a waste of time. Metcalf ruined everything.

"I'm sure you'll get plenty of help elsewhere," Gus shrugged.

"You guys suck," Buffy let out an overdramatic sigh, before turning around and looking at them over her shoulder, "but your asses better be there, whether you like it or not." Without waiting for a response, the girls stomped off, her hair bouncing as she walked. "See you on Friday!" shouted at no one in particular as she pushed past a group of freshmen.

"Did she listen to us at all?" Jonah asked, shaking his head before taking another huge bite of his sandwich.

"I think she's the type of person who just hears what she wants to hear," Gus answered taking a bite of his own lunch.

"Well, I think she's... gorgeous," Marty grinned, lowering himself to the ground with a sigh.

"Oh god. Again? What happened to, what was it? Maria?" Jonah groaned, tearing off a chunk of his sandwich and offering it to Cyrus.

"Who?"

"You're an embarrassment," Cyrus shook his head, silently savoring the flavor of peanut butter and jelly.

**_Wednesday, 10:34 AM_ **

"Cyrus..." Gus poked a pencil at the younger teen's neck, breaking him out of his daydream. It had been a nice daydream, one where he was not stuck in an AP Biology classroom and never would be again. "Dude, if you're gonna stare at Mrs. Regis, could ya be a little more subtle about it?"

"Huh—What?" Cyrus asked, shaking his head and batting away the pencil Gus was holding in his face.

"You've been staring at her for like three minutes," Gus whispered as the bell rang to start the class. A flurry of students stepped in from the hall as Mrs. Regis stood up from her desk and started erasing the whiteboard. "I mean, I get it, but... c'mon man."

"What? No! What's wrong with you, she's a teacher." Cyrus tried to convey as much disappointment and disgust as possible in a single look, but Gus didn't seem phased.

"A hot teacher," Gus shrugged.

"Damnit, man. Can you just—"

"Excuse me. Could I speak to Cyrus, please?" 

Both boys looked up in surprise as they were interrupted by a short girl with a pixie haircut and a very, very colorful skirt. 

"Hello Andi," Gus waved weakly at the class representative, not moving from the chair next to Cyrus at their lab bench. "How's it going."

"Oh, it's good, you know." She motioned to the slowly organizing classroom around them with a shrug. "But I do need to talk to Cyrus now, Gus. Alone."

"Alone?"

"Oh, uh..." Gus shuffled his papers into his book and stood as Andi leveled an 'I'm-not-fucking-around' glare in his direction. Two seconds later, Andi was falling into the seat next to the baffled teen, and Gus was lowering himself into the only available seat at the front of the room. 

Cyrus knew Andi. Everyone knew Andi. It was hard not to know the girl who got up to speak at every assembly. But Cyrus sort of knew her a tiny bit better than some, because she had dated his best friend back when they were all freshmen. That hadn't lasted very long, though, and they certainly were no longer at a 'talk to you alone' sort of friendship.

"Um... good morning?" Cyrus asked, confused as Andi took her books out and set them on the table in front of the two of them. Mrs. Regis still hadn't turned around from writing things out on the board and the class was happily taking advantage of the opportunity to chat freely.

"So I hear you lost something this Saturday..." Andi whispered taking out yet another book from her backpack. By that point her backpack was empty and there was a small wall of history, math, and English books at the front of the lab bench.

"Lost something? I..." Cyrus's eyes widened as he remembered the bag of weed. He'd been trying to avoid thinking about that since he hadn't actually seen Libby on the first day of school. "Shit. You found—I, uh... I mean... what are you talking about."

"Your virginity," Andi slouched down close the desk as Cyrus looked at her confused. "No, the weed you dumbass," she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, okay. I, uh...cool," Cyrus whispered, bringing his head down near the desk as he quickly glanced around to see if anyone was listening to them. No one was. Mostly people tended to ignore him. "But do you have to call me a dumbass?"

"If I hadn't picked it up, the police would have found it at Libby's. You're lucky I'm only calling you a dumbass." Andi said pointedly. She widened her eyes, inviting Cyrus to try to argue.

"Okay, okay, fine. It was an accident, I didn't even realize what happened until the next day. I'm sorry, okay?"

Andi's eyes leveled into a glare, clearly trying to communicate something that Cyrus was just too tired to understand. Reed had kept him up until well past midnight, insisting they watch Toy Stories 1 and 2 before deciding he wasn’t emotionally prepared to watch 3 and finally letting the exhausted teen go to sleep.

"Well? Are we good?" Cyrus responded, just wanting this interaction to be done with.

"Good? What does that mean?"

"Can I have it back?" Cyrus asked. It wasn't even that he really wanted the drugs, but he had no idea how much Jonah and Marty had spent on that baggie and there was no way he'd be able to pay them back if they got mad that he'd lost it.

"Uh... no," Andi laughed, sitting up straight again as she gave Cyrus an incredulous look.

"What!"

"Buffy told me how you guys acted when she asked you to help with the common room this Friday." Goddamnit. Cyrus sighed, running his hands through his hair. It was a little more wild than usual, as he'd used the last of his gel the day before and couldn't afford to buy more. Of course, the one time he says no to someone, it comes back to bite him in the ass. "Honestly, Cyrus, I thought you guys were a little bit better than the standard set of assholes this school has to offer. I'm disappointed in you."

"Ugh, fine. Okay? I'll help you out. I just wanted to... nevermind. Look. I'll come on Friday, okay? You happy?"

"I don't think you understand," Andi said with a bit of a smirk. "You'll be there on Friday with your whole little group. Especially Jonah. Or no deal."

"Seriously? Andi? I'm not a magician!" One of the girls at the bench in front of them turned around and Cyrus realized that he had accidentally slipped out of a whisper. He awkwardly waved until she turned around. At the same time, Mrs. Regis appeared to be finishing up at the board. He was running out of time. "They don't even know I lost it, Andi, I can't tell them why they need to go. They'll kill me."

"Not my problem, Goodman," Andi shrugged, starting to put her books back into her bag. "C'mon, the Cyrus I knew freshman year could motivate anyone to do anything. Or, at least could annoy anyone into doing anything. It's the same thing, really."

Cyrus tried not to think about how much things had changed since freshman year.

"Fine," Cyrus sighed, grabbing Andi's arm to stop her from walking away. "I'll get everyone there, okay?"

"Awesome. Oh, and get there early, yeah? We need help setting things up."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," Andi grinned shrugging her bag back onto her shoulder. “Seriously.”

"Fine. But can you... I mean. Can you give it back?"

"What, before the meeting? As if—"

"Ms. Mack, where are you going?" Mrs. Regis was looking up from her attendance book just as Andi pushed her chair in.

"Um, sorry ma'am. I'm just supposed to be sitting next to Libby?" Andi pointed to the front of the room, in the chair where Gus had ended up.

"You know, I think I like this arrangement better," Mrs. Regis grinned, crossing something out on the paper in front of her and writing something down over it. "Maybe now you four will finally stop talking and start paying attention, hmm? Now, where were we?"

With a defeated sigh, Andi fell onto the stool next to Cyrus once again. Cyrus tried to get the attention of Gus in a last mournful attempt to connect with his friend, but the freckled boy was already busy chatting with Libby.

"Good job, Mack," Cyrus grumbled, pulling out his notebook.

An annoyed sigh was the only response he got.

**_Friday, 4:38 PM_ **

"Cyrus! Glad you could pull your head out of your own ass long enough to make it!" Buffy, grinned as Cyrus pushed open the door to the new common room. The only other people there were Andi and Libby, who were sitting on an old metal table that someone had pushed up against one of the walls. The room—the one that the flyer had promised was going to be the coolest place in the school—looked... depressing. It had clearly been used as storage for the past however many years, and there were still a few shelves cluttered with... something against one of the walls. The floor was otherwise empty, except for a thick layer of dust that covered pretty much everything. The only part of the room that seemed to have any life was a large 90's-hip-hop-looking mural lit up by the light from the window.

And that just looked stupid.

"So what do you think?" Andi exclaimed, holding her arms out as Libby leaned against her side. "Not too shabby, huh?"

"Uh... I was actually thinking it was like... exactly too shabby." Cyrus dropped his bag by the door as he took a slow walk around the perimeter of the room. It was surprisingly big if they cleared out all the junk that was still around, but otherwise, it just looked...

"Depressing. I know." Buffy chimed it.

"Why are we here again?" Libby signed, getting Andi's attention with a nudge of her shoulder.

"Well, it's like... a blank canvas. C'mon," Andi grinned, speaking and signing at the same time. "You know we both love a big project."

"We've just got to put some effort into it," Buffy sighed, grabbing a broom. "But if everyone that I think is coming shows up, then we might actually be able to make something worth hanging out in. And we'll be able to make Metcalf think it was all his idea."

"Sounds like fun."

"Cyrus, you start setting up the folding chairs. We need like fifteen? Twenty? Yeah, twenty sounds good," Buffy directed Cyrus before he could get a chance to relax. He tried not to roll his eyes as the idea that twenty people might show up for this thing. Even with Andi and Buffy behind this project, they'd be lucky to get half that many.

"Yes, sir," Cyrus smiled to hide his smirk, and set out to clear the floorspace for the chairs.

Half an hour later, the chairs were set up, the juice was poured into plastic cups, and Cyrus had stuffed his face with at least four grocery-store sugar cookies. He and Buffy were debating the likelihood that The Spoon—their shared favorite local diner—would actually be able to stay open 'til their graduation, when the door opened for the first time and two boys that Cyrus didn't recognize walked in carrying laptops.

"Oi, Buffy. We finally have a crowd," Cyrus grinned as the girls' basketball captain lept up from her chair to go approach the boys and welcome them to the common room. It was funny to watch as Buffy put on an extra nice face to welcome these kids who looked like they were brand-new freshman, clearly tricked into showing up for something they thought might make them cool. He heard a clearly fake laugh come from leader of this little project as Buffy directed the boys to the cookies, shooting the lounging Cyrus a glare as she walked past him. From their brief chat as they set up, Cyrus got the idea that Buffy was starting to get tired of all the niceties. But it was funny to watch her try to keep up the facade.

Two minutes later, as Cyrus shoved yet another cookie in his mouth in an unsuccessful attempt to get his stomach to stop growling at him, the door opened to a small group of students. Cyrus was surprised to find that Buffy was actually right—there were almost enough kids to take up all the chairs—but he was even more surprised to see his friends file in at the back of the group.

"You actually showed up," Cyrus grinned, walking over to fall into one of the rear chairs next to Marty.

"Well, Buffy's here," Marty grinned, winking as he tucked his bag under the folding chair. "Can't miss that."

"And you said there'd be cookies?" Jonah smiled reaching out for Cyrus to offer his bro-handshake. It had taken, like, a month of practice last year, but Cyrus was almost always able to smoothly meet Jonah's hand—and had only once accidentally slapped his friend in the face.

Sometimes he got the feeling that no matter what part of the multiverse he might be in, there would always be a Cyrus Goodman with embarrassingly bad hand-eye coordination.

"There are! If I haven't eaten all of them yet," Cyrus pointed to the table on the side of the room and Jonah jumped behind the chairs to make his way over to the snacks, returning a few seconds later with a handful of cookies and two glasses of juice.

"Alright, so... we're here," Gus sighed, leaning forward in his chair so that he could face the rest of the group. "You pulled the whole, best-friends support each other thing, so we're here. You finally gonna tell us why?"

"I just think it's a, uh... a really cool idea," Cyrus shrugged, trying not to look Gus in the eye. Cyrus wasn't great at lying on a good day, but 5 o'clock on a Friday when his brain had mostly turned off, he was sure no one would ever believe his half-truths.

"Right, and it has nothing to do with what Andi was talking to you about this week?" Gus smirked sinking back into his chair.

"Okay, okay fine, Jonah's ex strong-armed me into it. Whatever. Marty wanted to be here for Buffy anyway, how about we just shut up and listen to what they wanna do, huh? Maybe it'll be cool."

"Do you think I'll be able to get Buffy's number?" Marty leaned over, whispering into Cyrus's ear loud enough for everyone in a five-foot radius to hear.

"Hey, welcome! Grab a seat!" Andi's voice rang out over the chatter. Cyrus glanced over at who the shorter girl was addressing and almost dropped the cookie Jonah was offering him as his eyes landed on Iris. She was wearing a flower covered headband and a light sweater and oh, shit, she was staring right at him with a very fond smile on her face.

"Ah, so that's why we're here." Jonah whispered a little too loudly, elbowing Cyrus in the side. If only that was the case. But it was not. This was not part of the plan. Cyrus had not prepared for this possibility. He'd been telling himself all week that hadn't been thinking about Iris—except that every time he'd caught sight of her, he’d opted to take a different hallway in an active attempt to avoid her. Not because there was something wrong with her. There wasn't. She seemed nice. She was pretty. But Cyrus was worried. Worried that she might have actually, really felt something during that kiss at the party. The soft smile she was still sending his way certainly implied she might have. And that would be a problem. A problem, he’d decided, that was best to just... avoid. Plus, it had been remarkably easy enough to avoid her at school—until that moment—given that she was a senior taking all advanced classes. But there she was—greeting Andi and Buffy with a wave and sitting in one of the chairs in the front row—and suddenly the butterflies were causing chaos in Cyrus's stomach.

And then, like it was nothing, she looked back at him and winked.

"Oh fuck, did you see that?" Jonah whispered, squeezing Cyrus's knee.

He wished he hadn't.

"Alright, everyone! Thank you all for coming to—oh! Looks like we have a few more. Please, take a... yeah, right there. We were just getting started."

Searching for a distraction, Cyrus turned around to see who else had just arrived. Falling into the chair on the other side of his row was a tall boy Cyrus had never seen before. His dirty blond hair was styled with a bit too much hair gel, and he was wearing a shabby hoodie and a pair of faded jeans despite the sweltering heat outside, and as he fell into this seat, chatting with the girl he had walked in with, Cyrus caught his eye for just a second.

And in that instant, he felt his stomach drop. The butterflies returned full force in his chest, this time creating a sensation that was anything but unpleasant. It felt... exciting.

He was aware of the fact that his friends were still whispering excitedly around him, but it was like he couldn't focus on the words they were saying. It was just noise. And when he took a second look across the room, the blond boy met his eyes again, a soft smile on his face. And for some reason that made nothing his friends were saying matter in the slightest.

"Cy? Cy-guy? Y'know what I'm saying?" Jonah whispered, shaking his friend's shoulder vigorously.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, whatever you want," Cyrus whispered, still distracted. Why was that other boy looking at him so intently? Had he seen Cyrus staring? Why was Cyrus staring? What was he doing? Why were his hands suddenly so sweaty?

He hadn’t felt this strong of an urge to go talk to someone since he was eleven, and he saw Jonah for the first time.

"Whatever I want?" Jonah chuckled. "What the hell does that mean."

"Whatever you—I don't know. You're, um... just—"

"Alright, everyone? Thank you all for coming." Cyrus silently thanked whoever might have been watching out for him as Buffy's voice rose above the chatter in the room and pulled the attention of everyone—including the new boy—away from him. "If you don't know, this is Andi and Libby and I, of course, am Buffy—"

The general silence of the crowd was broken as Marty suddenly started clapping, dramatically nodding his head with approval. Immediately, three sets of hands shot out to pull his hands down and shut him up.

"Thank you, Marty, for the uh... enthusiasm. But, well, let's hold the applause 'til the end, yeah?” Buffy’s cheeriness was already starting to sound strained as she stared at the boys with one of the most terrifying smiles Cyrus had ever seen. “Now, I'm sure you're all wondering what exactly it is we're doing here."

"Here to support you," Marty shouted out with a wink. Cyrus was the first one able to get his hands over his friend's mouth but not before the rest of the gathering had turned to look at their little group.

Without meaning to, he caught the eye of the boy again. That random fucking new boy. And just like that, his chest felt tight.

"Just gonna... push past that one," Buffy continued. "So. We are here to turn this common room, which has been languishing, abandoned, for, like, five years now, and turn it into something... cool. Fun. A place where you can take your free periods, or your lunch, and have discussions and meet new people. In school."

"So... the cafeteria?" Jonah offered, eliciting a muted laugh from the people sitting around them and a smile from Cyrus. Even when he was being an asshole, Cyrus couldn't help himself from finding his best friend annoyingly charming. It was just in the way he said things.

"Ha ha. Enough, of that. Jonah." Andi stepped up, glaring down at her ex. Jonah held his hands up by his head and put an innocent look on his face, and the laughter died down. "Next person who interrupts may just find their locker has been glitter-bombed next week, hm?"

"Thank you, Andi," Buffy placed a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Now, if the interruptions are done, we're here to decide what we want this place to be. We've prepared some questionnaires for you all. Please, tell us what you would want to find in your perfect common room. What would make you want to use this place? What are you expecting from us as we design this place... Anything you feel like adding. We're happy to get your opinions. We want this to be a space for all of us. Though, of course, I do have some very good ideas, myself." 

As she spoke, Libby and Andi moved around the room, handing out sheets of paper and pens to all of the people gathered there. Cyrus looked over the questionnaire with a sigh. It all seemed pretty straightforward. What sort of events would you want to have? What features are necessary to make you want to visit? What's the first thing you would change? As he looked around the room he couldn't stop himself from occasionally glancing the new boy. Watching as he accepted a pen from Libby. Observing out of the corner of his eye as the blond took the cap off with his teeth and started answering the questions with a surprising amount of focus and determination.

If Cyrus didn't know better, he'd assume the kid was putting on a show for someone.

"Does anyone have any questions?" Buffy asked as the room starting filling out their answers.

"Um," Marty raised his hand and a sigh could be heard coming from their little corner of the room. "Hi, Buffy? Yeah. It's uh, it's about your number? I was just wondering, after the 6 in the area code, what comes next?"

"Well, let's see." Buffy appeared to be considering his question seriously as a light patter of laughter echoed through the room "After 6 usually comes 7, right? Then 8, 9, 10... But really, if you need a math tutor, I think I know someone who could help."

A much louder bout of laughter rang out as Marty fell back against his chair with a stupid smile on his face. "I think I'm in love, guys."

"I think you're an idiot," Gus whispered, pretending to focus on his survey. 

"You should just write in your number," Jonah grinned, leaning over Cyrus and poking at Marty's elbow.

"That's genius!" Marty's stupid smile grew even larger as he eagerly started filling out his name, adding his phone number before standing up to turn in his paper with nothing else on it.

"Are you crazy," Gus whispered to Jonah as the older boy pushed past them to the open aisle. "Buffy could literally eat him alive."

"Yeah, and it's going to be hilarious to watch. Plus he deserves to be knocked down a few pegs. Right, Cy?"

"Huh?" Cyrus shook his head, breaking his focus from his distraction.

He definitely hadn't been watching the blond boy discussing his answers with the girl next to him. That would be weird.

**_Friday, 6:53 PM_ **

Cyrus hated taking the bus at night.

Jonah was supposed to drive him home—well, to the apartment—but his parents had called him home with a family emergency right after the meeting. And it wasn't like Cyrus couldn't take the bus. The monthly pass had been one of the first things he'd bought once he was out from under his mom's roof. It's just that it was always behind schedule, and he'd never had to take one this late, and honestly, sometimes the people on the bus could be... scary.

"Fuck you, Marty. Learn to answer your damn phone," the grumpy teen growled before checking the schedule once again. The piece of paper said the bus was supposed to arrive at the first street bank—and he was at the first street bank!—at 6:50 PM. And it was already three minutes late. It had been a long week, and he didn't want it to be a minute longer.

He just wanted to be in bed.

Frustrated, he kicked at a piece of paper someone had balled up and left on the ground. As he watched it roll under the wall of the bus shelter and towards the bank, he was immediately struck with environmentalism-based guilt that he hadn't just picked up the litter in the first place. Feeling tired but ultimately unable to justify leaving a ball of recyclable goods on the sidewalk, the skinny teen stood with a groan and made his way around the barrier. On the other side, he felt a twinge of pride and frustration as he realized the paper had rolled farther than he'd expected. It had ended up all the way near the wall of the bank at the feet of someone standing in front of a vending machine. 

Shifting his backpack to his other shoulder, Cyrus walked over to get his good deed for the day over with. 

"Excuse me, I just need to—"

The paper and the rest of that sentence dropped from his mind as the teenager at the vending machine turned around with a pleasant smile. It was him. It was the same guy from the common room.

"Oh, sorry, did you want something? I always suck at choosing what to get from these things." The teen smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his stormy gray-green eyes. He was taller than Cyrus, by almost a full head, even as he slouched a little and stepped to the side. "You can go ahead of me if you're hungry."

"Wha—I, uh... No, I mean. Sorry. I'm good."

"Suit yourself," the blond shrugged, turning back to the vending machine, scanning the shelves with the look of someone hunting down their prey.

So that was that then. Seemed like a good enough interaction in Cyrus's book, the guy seemed friendly. No reason to keep things going any farther than they needed to.

"C-10 is my favorite. I mean, if you're looking for an opinion," Cyrus wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, his instincts were telling him that the conversation was done but... he didn't want it to be.

"Yeah?" The other boy glanced over his shoulder, a gentle smile at the corner of his lips.

"It's what I usually get." Cyrus offered, trying to look anywhere but at the teen's face to avoid looking like he was staring. Because he wasn't staring.

"Sounds good to me," The blond chuckled and input the code, vending the small bag of mini-chocolate chocolate chip muffins. 

For some reason, the butterflies returned with a vengeance, making Cyrus's chest feel tight and fluttery as he watched the boys hands move across the keypad. He experienced the unusual sensation of being desperate to hear this random guy agree with his opinion on the muffins. The feeling only intensified with along with confusion as Cyrus watched him repeat the process, making the machine dispense a second bag on top of the first.

"To share," the taller teen said with a smile as he turned around holding the two bags of muffins. "You wanted one, too, right?"

"Oh, uh—Nah, I mean, I can just buy..." Cyrus’s eyes jumped from the boy’s smiling face to the vending machine, hovering to rest on the now empty slot where the muffins used to be. The new guy had taken the last two.

"Good thing this is enough for both of us. C'mon." With a gentle nod of his to the bus shelter, he lead tgr two of them back to the bench, Cyrus quietly following behind.

Cyrus didn’t want to think about the way his brain was firing off weird impulses every few seconds, telling him to keep the conversation flowing, instructing him to stay close. His brain felt it was very important that he sit right next to this other boy, to limit the space between them. And that was weird. So he didn't. Instead, as they reached the bench, Cyrus took pains to set his bag down between the two of them as the still-unnamed boy popped open the first bag of muffins.

Despite his stomach being mostly full from the way-too-many cookies he'd devoured at the common room meeting, he accepted offered treat without a second thought.

"That was weird, right? That common room thing? I'm not the only one who felt some tension in there, am I?"

"No," Cyrus laughed, his mouth full of chocolate and sugar. His stomach was twisting around itself as he felt the other boy's eyes on him, but for some reason that didn't make it difficult to respond. Or to eat. "That was definitely weird. And that survey! I felt like I was at some sort of government focus group."

"True," the other boy nodded, taking the bag back and picking out a muffin for himself. "But I guess it's important to do crap like that."

"Surveys?" Cyrus asked, incredulous.

"No! God, no. The common room. Improve camaraderie and stuff like that. It'll make meeting new people a lot easier."

Cyrus nodded for a second, feeling a little bit lost before suddenly remember who he was speaking to.

"Oh that's right! You're new, aren't you? Right, yeah, I can see why you might think it's important."

"Yeah," the blonde sighed, still smiling, "Senior year. Tough to make a bunch of new friends, y'know? Gotta take what I can get."

Cyrus reached over and grabbed another muffin for himself. "That must be weird."

"Is it?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it that weird? I feel like it must happen every once in a while." Cyrus took a moment to analyze the look that the other boy was giving him. The grin on his face told Cyrus that he was having fun, but the stormy eyes were looking for an argument.

"I just don't think I could do it. Making new friends or whatever. I’m too awkward. I'd end up lonely and depressed the entire year." Cyrus offered the bag of muffins, but the other boy pushed it back with a grin and popped open his second bag.

"So I'm weird for trying to meet new people? Or am I just weird for thinking I’ll do it successfully?" There was laughter in his voice even as he tried to put on an offended look. Cyrus couldn't keep himself from giggling as he tossed another muffin in his mouth.

"I never said that,” Cyrus defended. “You’re the only one saying you’re weird right now.”

"Well, I guess I'm weird, then," the boy's face fell back to a gentle smile. It was a nice smile. It appeared to Cyrus to be completely open. Genuine. And it made the boy's eyes squint a little bit. "Nothing wrong with being weird, though."

"God, I hope not," Cyrus grinned. "If that were true—"

"Cyrus!" To Cyrus's eyes, Iris appeared in front of them out of literally nowhere. He had been so engrossed in their conversation that he hadn't even heard her approach. "I didn't think anyone else would be taking the bus so late!" The girl's chipper voice cut through the comfortable atmosphere that had been building itself in the overly warm bus shelter. "Don't tell me it's running late again."

"Oh, uh... yeah! It... it is." Cyrus sat up, realizing that he had started leaning over his bag toward the mysterious teen on the other end of the bench. As he caught Iris's eye, she looked down at his bag, then back at him, clearly giving him a silent request that it be moved somewhere else. "Oh, right! Uh... here."

Scrambling, Cyrus grabbed his bag and shoved it under the bench at his feet. As soon as the space opened up, Iris plopped herself down between him and the other boy, excitedly asking if she could have one of his muffins.

"Thank you! I love these things," Iris grinned around a mouthful of chocolate pastry. A soft silence fell as the brunette finished off the last muffin, sending looks at Cyrus every few seconds like she was waiting for him to do... something. 

He had no idea what she was expecting.

"So what did you guys think of that meeting? Cool, right?" Iris finally broke the silence, looking directly at Cyrus as she asked. For some reason, Cyrus found himself completely at a loss for what to say. "I think those girls are on to something."

"I think our general consensus has been that it was... weird." The blond said from the other side of the bench, his smile faint but still friendly.

"Weird?”

"Weird," the boy nodded. "But yeah," he leaned over, catching Cyrus's eye as his smile grew wider. "I think we uh... I think we like weird here."

Cyrus held the other boy's stare, trying to figure out what exactly he meant by that.

"Oh, I never introduced myself!" Iris exclaimed, wiping her hand of any chocolate crumbs before offering it to the other boy. "I'm Iris."

"Hello, Iris," the blond chuckled, accepting her offered hand with a firm yet professional handshake.

"And you are?" She asked, grinning happily as the boy looked away.

"Ah, right. I'm TJ." TJ. He was answering Iris's question but his eyes were locked onto Cyrus as he said it.

"Nice to meet you, TJ," Iris beamed, turning to look in her purse for her phone.

"Yeah, I'm TJ," the blonde repeated, still holding Cyrus's gaze, a warm smile growing on his face.

TJ. Right.

Cyrus really wished the bus would show up, already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter, and probably the next one followed super super closely to the script for Skam: France. And yeah, everything in this is probably gonna be really close to that script and that story, but once everything is set up, we'll be able to get a little more freedom, a little more independence from the inspiration. I hope you enjoyed this!


	2. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 2: This new guy? TJ? Cyrus can't get him out of his head. And that's not a good thing.

**_Saturday, 2:34 PM_ **

It was a beautiful day for doing absolutely nothing, and that was exactly what Cyrus planned to do. He had homework, but that could wait. Outside was too hot, the world and the people in it were too confusing, and Cyrus was perfectly happy to be sitting on the couch next to Lester, switching back and forth between Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook like his life depended on it. There were a lot of things about this scene that were still relatively 'new' to Cyrus—relaxing on a Saturday without a schedule to adhere to, scrolling through his phone without fear of it being confiscated or monitored, even just having social media accounts that he felt comfortable posting on freely—and he had no plans to sacrifice any of it to the altar of 'getting things done.'

Besides, despite the fact that he was still dressed in pajamas and subsisting on nothing but coffee and a stale granola bar, his relaxed image was, in fact, a facade. Cyrus Goodman was a man on a mission.

TJ.

TJ was, obviously, only a first name. Not even, if you think about it—more of a nickname. A set of initials that could stand for... anything. Which was really unfortunate, because it was making it extremely difficult to find anything about this guy.

Even Facebook came back with nothing useful.

Apparently, two initials, the adjective 'weird,' and 'smiles like he's known you his entire life' is not enough information to find someone in 2019.

Which Cyrus was starting to get just... a tiny bit frustrated by.

As his roommate cracked up at some stupidity on the TV, Cyrus found himself resisting the urge to throw his phone against the wall. It wasn't the phone's fault, but he had to blame something. That guy's face, and his voice, and his overwhelming smile had been running through Cyrus's head since his bus had pulled away from the curb the night before, and he was starting to get distraught. All he knew about him was that his name (his initials, really) was TJ, he was a senior at Jefferson high school, but used to go somewhere else, and that wherever he went after school could be reached by one of the seven bus lines that stopped at the First Street Bank.

And he needed to know more.

Why?

Because Cyrus had only ever met one other person who got stuck in his head the same way this TJ guy had. And that was Jonah. And for reasons he didn't want to think about—didn't want to give any weight to—that scared him.

So, swallowing his pride and typing 'TJ Shadyside' into the Facebook search bar for the twentieth time was just the best option. Because, Cyrus reasoned, if he could find this guy, and find out more about him, then he could pinpoint exactly what made his brain get so obsessed. And he could prove to himself that it was just a harmless thing that didn't mean anything at all. And then maybe he could find something about this TJ guy that was appalling enough to make him never want to think about him again. Maybe mister tall, blonde, and uh... mysterious was actually one of those twenty-first century Nazi bastards.

Horrible, obviously, but at least then Cyrus would be able to purge him from his mind.

As his brain started to wander down that particularly dark train of thought, a little bubble popped up on the bottom of his screen, saving him from having to debate whether the lack of any apparent social media for this kid meant he had actually enjoyed a snack with a serial killer. His thankfulness for the distraction was quickly tempered when he opened up his requests tab and saw who the notification was from.

Iris Labelle wants to be your friend.

Cyrus was still a bit rough on a lot of internet etiquette, but, as far as he understood, the fact that they had made out at a party meant he should probably accept her friend request. Yet, as Lester started scrolling through Netflix searching for a new source of entertainment, he hesitated. Was this going to signal to her that he was interested? Was this a normal level of interest? And what if she wanted to chat, and distracted him from...

In a moment of frustration, the reality of the situation became suddenly obvious to him. He had spent the better portion of the afternoon trying to find a way to connect with some random guy he had spoken to for all of three minutes, while this beautiful, interesting girl was actively trying to get to know him—and he was seriously considering rejecting the girl?

Cyrus accepted the friend request without another thought, confused and upset that his own brain had spent the last twenty hours telling him to focus on the wrong thing.

And then he immediately opened up Instagram and typed 'TJ' into the search bar.

"Cyrus!"

"Reed." With a single large, off-balance step, Cyrus's blond roommate made his way over the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch between him and Lester.

"Cyrus Goodman. Cyrus, my good man. I have a conundrum. A moral quandary, if you will."

"Sounds rough," the younger teen mumbled as he angrily shut his phone off when the search results hadn't changed since his last attempt. "Let me know how that goes for you."

"Well, maybe you can help, since it does involve you."

Cyrus sighed, shoving his phone under his leg and turning slightly to face his older roommate. Reed was dressed surprisingly well, given the way he usually lounged around the apartment, with a short sleeve button-up and a clean pair of cut-off jean shorts. Granted, it was just a little bit more form-fitting than Cyrus felt necessary for a day spent doing nothing.

"I'm trying to decide if I should tell my roommate to pay me the rent he's a week late on, or if I should tell him to just pay me twice as much as usual for next month."

"Shit, Reed, I—"

"Oh, you thought I was talking about you? I meant this asshole over here!" without looking away from Cyrus, Reed reached behind him and slapped the back of Lester's head. "Because somehow I am the only responsible member of this household! And I don't know if I can handle that much pressure!"

"Ow, shit!" Lester rubbed at the back of his head, pausing whatever he had been watching. "I told you I'd be late this month! Fuckin... I just got my paycheck yesterday, you'll have the rent by Monday."

"Thank you!" Reed spun, pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to Lester's cheek before turning back to face his other roommate. "See how easy that was? Now, your turn."

"I'm sorry Reed. I'm still waiting on my Dad to give me the money. I promise—I'll remind him," Cyrus pulled his phone back out and opened up his messages, "right now."

"Oh, I do love this story. I thought I would get tired of hearing it after the third time but truly," the blond sighed sweetly, resting his chin on the shorter teen's shoulder, "you just can't beat the classics."

"I promise, you'll have the rent as soon as I can get it."

"Tell that to my bank account," Reed scoffed, digging his phone out of his pocket. "Right now I've got just barely enough to... whoops, wrong app."

A chorus of dings, chirps, and buzzes started emanating from Reed's phone, playing out for what eventually turned into a laughably long time. With the tense mood broken by a continuous string of what sounded like twenty wolf-whistles, Cyrus felt himself relax back into the couch. He hated having that conversation. He hated screwing over Reed by being late with rent every month. He hated having to swallow down his anxiety and ask his dad for money every month. And he especially hated that this was now the fourth time he would have to remind his dad to hold up his end of their deal.

But it was tough to hold on to the dour mood while watching Reed struggle to dismiss one notification bubble after another.

"Someone's popular," Cyrus grinned, setting his own phone down once again.

"Don't change the subject," Reed shot him a quick glare before breaking out into a huge smile. "But yeah. Ever since I changed profile pics, these guys are... insatiable." Cyrus did not particularly appreciate the wink his roommate gave him.

"Right, well—"

"See?" Without warning, Cyrus's vision was suddenly filled with the image of a mostly naked Reed and the headline of a profile that gave him way more information than he ever wanted about his roommate.

"Fuck, seriously, Reed!" Cyrus flinched away before the image of too much pale skin was burned into his mind forever.

"What's the big deal? I look amazing!"

"Maybe I just don't want to know what you look like naked! Ever thought of that possibility?" Cyrus kept his hands up, ready to cover any more intrusive images as he glared at his roommate.

"Oh, calm down. You can't even see the good stuff. That would be a violation of the user agreement." Seemingly unashamed, Reed began to swipe around the app like he wasn't in the middle the living room. Cyrus tried to give Lester a questioning look, but he seemed undisturbed. "I mean, you really shouldn't be embarrassed, little guy. One day you too will enjoy the wonders of puberty and I just want to prepare you for the changes you might see—"

"Oh fuck off," Cyrus batted away Reed's poking fingers, turning away from the blond as much as the couch allowed and going back to his phone.

"Yeah, yeah... Hmm. Now, this is something I really don't get."

Cyrus sighed. Clearly, his roommate didn't plan on giving him any peace. He still couldn't tell if Reed was actively trying to annoy him, or if that was just the way he was. "Yes, Reed?"

"This guy messaged me, he wants to hook up, but his profile says he's 'completely straight.'" In the corner of his eye, Cyrus could see Reed motioning to something on his phone dramatically. "It's a conundrum, really. A moral quandary. Do I meet up with him and get laid, or do I take the time to explain to this poor deluded fellow that he is most definitely not 'completely straight,' and risk him running in fear? I mean, he is hot."

"Maybe he just... wants to try?"

Reed looked up, surprised to hear the younger teen actually engage with one of his rants for once. He was used to Cyrus ignoring him or walking away, and was all too happy to have found a topic that the brunet wouldn't just tune out.

"I mean, maybe he's curious?" Cyrus offered, not meeting Reed's eye.

"Hmm, let's see. He's been on this app for... Oh! Look at that! Two years. He must be very curious, indeed." Once again Cyrus's line of sight was taken up by the screen of Reed's phone, but at least this time he was able to cover most of it up with his hands before his eyes registered anything.

"Damn it, Reed!" It was too much, and the younger teen pushed himself up from the couch and grabbed his phone, desperate to get away.

"I'm just saying, how many dudes does a guy have to experiment with before he's satisfied his curiosity, right? I feel like once you hit guy number two, you probably have your answer. Definitely by the time you get to number twenty, and—Hey where are you going! This is some important wisdom I'm dropping!"

"Maybe I just don't want to spend my weekend looking at half-naked men, Reed." Cyrus turned around, sending an exasperated look towards his roommate. "You just... do your thing, and I'll be in my room."

"Since I'm the only one paying rent, I think they're all, technically, my rooms!" Reed called after him.

Cyrus held back the response that tried to bubble out of his throat and closed his door.

"Whatever," Reed mumbled to Lester, turning back to his phone and opening up a new message. "His loss."

**_Monday, 8:53 AM_ **

Cyrus is not usually one for espionage, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And, more importantly, he hadn't run into any of his friends yet, so no one had been able to talk him out of his crazy plan. Besides, what was the point of being able to naturally charm adults in low-level administrative rolls if he didn't use his skills every once in a while?

"Mr. Goodman, I was wondering when you might show up," Mr. Tandy, the administrative office secretary, was Jefferson High's essential kindly old man. He always wore sweater-vests, occasionally with a bowtie (on special occasions), his thick wire-frame glasses sat at the end of a long sloped nose, and he always had a bowl of candy on his desk for anyone to grab from. "What is it this year, young man? Is your mother making you drop out of your art class again?"

"Good morning, Mr. Tandy," Cyrus plastered a big smile on his face, trying to recall all the last time he had spoken to the old man. Chances were it was while his mother was dragging him into yet another meeting with the principal to complain about... something. "Nothing like that this year."

"Well then, what can I help you with?" The older gentlemen pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a friendly smile on his face.

"Two things, actually," Cyrus said, channeling all the pep and positive energy he could muster to prepare himself for what was, technically, a lie. Well, two lies. "Firstly, I, uh... moved. This summer. And the person that is living at my old house, she, um, told me she was still getting my mail from the school," technically all true, "so I want to make sure my address is changed. In the system. Y'know, don't want my report card going to the, uh... wrong family."

"I would expect your parents probably still need to fill out the form, I can email it—"

"Actually, um," Cyrus swallowed around the lump growing in his throat—he really wasn't very comfortable with lying—and redoubled his smile, "that's the thing. My dad, he insists y'know, that he already did all the paperwork. Said he mailed it in months ago. I mean, I'm sure it just got lost in the mail or something, but I'd really prefer to just... do it now?" He tried not to look too hopeful, unwrapping a piece of candy in an attempt to look nonchalant.

"Well, we do still need your parent's signature, Mr. Goodman."

"I get that, I do," Cyrus struggled to keep the disappointment from clawing its way onto his face. "It's just that my, uh... my dad is out of town. And..." the teen sighed, dropping the happy facade in exchange for a worried look, "I know it doesn't seem like a big thing. But I really don't want to get my mom involved. And I really don't want her to decide she needs to come down here and yell at you for losing the forms my dad sent in..."

Cyrus held his breath as he felt Mr. Tandy looking him over. His mom may have been a horrible mother, but she could be a very effective threat.

The sound of the printer coming to life knocked the young teen out of his thoughts, as Mr. Tandy silently reached behind his head to grab a new sheet of paper. "I am going to assume that a bright young boy such as yourself would never try to do something foolish, like changing your address to divert bad news from reaching your parents. Right?"

"Uh, no? I mean—nope! No bad news here."

"Oh good," Mr. Tandy's face relaxed as he placed the freshly printed 'Change of Address' form on the desk in front of Cyrus. "In that case, I will also just assume that... whatever ends up on that bottom line there," with a gently wobbling finger, the older man pointed to the bottom of the paper, "is your father's signature."

"As it will be, of course," Cyrus grinned, folding the paper in thirds and slipping it into the side of his bag.

"Now, I believe second period is about to start, so you better hurry up with your second request." The old secretary turned back to his computer with a soft grin.

"Oh! Right, that," Cyrus said dismissively, as if he hadn't been planning what he was about to say since the previous night. "I just, last week I was helping a new student—a senior—find his class and I, uh... I think I ended up with one of his books somehow." Cyrus popped a caramel candy into his mouth, deciding that it counted as breakfast as he wrapped his tongue around it. "I haven't been able to find him since, though. I was hoping you could tell me what his locker number is? I'd love to get it back to him."

"Shouldn't be a problem," Mr. Tandy started typing into his computer, looking over at Cyrus a few second later. "I'm sorry, what did you say his name was?"

Now, there were two reasons why Cyrus had decided, after three hours of planning, that Mr. Tandy was the perfect person to help him achieve his goal. The first reason being that, as a 73-year-old secretary with a good amount of free time, the older gentleman took it upon himself to know the name and face of every student at Jefferson High in order to keep his mind from going soft.

"Tall guy, blond hair, sort of a sharp face. I think he said his name was... TJ?"

"Oh yes, of course! Not like we have many new seniors this year to choose from," Mr. Tandy quickly typed away at his computer before writing a number on a slip of paper.

"That's his locker?"

The second reason Cyrus chose Mr. Tandy was the real key, though. Because Mr. Tandy always referred to everyone, absolutely everyone, by their last name.

"That it is. I'm sure Mr. Kippen will be very thankful to have his book returned."

"Yeah," Cyrus grinned, slipping the unnecessary slip paper into his pocket to recycle later. "I'm sure Mr. Kippen will."

**_Monday, 10:27 AM_ **

TJ Kippen not only had Facebook, and Instagram, and Twitter. He also had a GoFundMe. All Cyrus had needed was the last name and two minutes with Google, and the world laid everything he could have ever wanted to know at his feet. The guy had apparently never heard of changing his privacy settings. Not that Cyrus was complaining.

First things first, TJ Kippen was not a Nazi.

Or, at least, he did not appear to be based on his social media accounts. 

He was, however, already eighteen—an instagram picture of him buying porn and cigarettes from a gas station, dated from the beginning of Summer, reminded Cyrus of what Marty always said he planned to do once he legally became an adult. And he didn't give himself a chance to think about why, but he found himself hoping that this guy didn't actually smoke those cancer sticks. At least he didn't have ten million pictures of him vaping—he sort of looked like the kind of guy who would vape—so maybe there was a chance that Cyrus could hang around him without constantly being on the verge of an asthma attack.

Not that Cyrus wanted to hang out with him.

The most interesting thing, though, was the GoFundMe. A one-third-funded request for $1,500 for a project titled Polaris. A music video the older teen wanted to produce for a song he had written. The project description went into a lot of semi-emotional 'why this is important to me' stuff that Cyrus would have edited out with a heavy hand if he'd had the choice, and the project seemed destined to go unfunded, but...

There was a video, TJ's smiling face staring at him from the thumbnail as his finger hovered over the play button

He looked up at the clock, decided he still had enough time before AP Bio started, and slipped in his earbuds.

"Alright, TJ," the voice of a girl behind the camera asked. "Tell us about the project."

"Right, um... so this project—this song, actually—is called Polaris. It's a... it's a love story, really."

"So, your classic boy meets girl?" The voice behind the camera asked.

"No! The thing is, yeah there's the boy—you'll have me performing the song in the video—but the other person, you don't know. It could be a girl, or a boy... it could be a monster. And you don't know who or what that person is because they're always shrouded in darkness." Cyrus felt himself focusing more and more on the image of this teen in front of him. The smile, the styled hair, it was all nice. But his eyes... there was a serious, enjoyable passion behind his eyes as he described the project. It made Cyrus feel like, even though this video had been shot months ago for the entire internet to see, TJ's words were somehow being directed solely to him "And that darkness keeps these two apart because they meet and over the course of the video they fall in love, but the boy—me—is terrified of the dark; and just as much the object of his affection is terrified of the light."

"So they how will they ever be together?" The girls voice asked, a little softer than it had been when the interview had first started.

"That's just it, they can't. These are two people whose worlds, whose entire lives have raised them to be kept apart from each other. They sit on the border of the light and dark every day and they talk, and they love, but they're still separate."

"And they'll never see each other."

"Well," the boy on the screen's smile shifted into something sly, "I don't want to ruin the whole video, but... let's just say this is also a video about fear. About overcoming fear. And—"

"Whatcha watching?"

"Jesus-fucking-Christ! Andi Mack!" Startled, Cyrus yanked the wire connected his head and his phone, resulting in sharp pain as the buds were pulled out of his ears by force. "Don't creep up on a guy like that!"

"Okay, well, no need to be rude," the dark-haired girl rolled her eyes as she lowered herself onto the stool beside Cyrus and started taking out her books. "Which is a shame, because I had a gift for you today, but..."

"A gift?" Cyrus asked, wincing as he rubbed lightly at his ears.

"Too late. It's going in the trash, now."

Cyrus gave the brightly dressed girl a skeptical look but then shook his head. Honestly, unless the gift was the $400 his dad owed him for rent, he wasn't sure he really cared. He looked over and saw that Andi's eyes were focused in his lap, and it took a second before he realized the video was still playing, TJ silently talking in front of a brick background with his huge, mind-numbing smile.

A quick cough, and Cyrus's phone was turned off and in his pocket.

"So, uh... are you having any more meetings for the, uh, the common room?" Cyrus asked, trying to distract the both of them from what he had just been caught doing. Not that he was doing anything embarrassing.

"Are you asking out of interest, or just making friendly conversation?" Andi asked, incredulous. "Because, last I checked, you thought this was—"

"No, I just... I think it's an interesting idea. Okay? I mean, I'd like to have a place to hang out during lunch, or maybe study halls, if we can swing that. Especially when the weather sucks and the courtyard isn't an option."

"Uhuh..." Andi turned to her book, still looking as if she didn't believe him.

"And, I mean... even if Jonah was a bit of an asshole—"

"No surprise there," Andi scoffed.

"—your first meeting wasn't that bad."

"Well, there's another one at lunch on Wednesday, if you're interested," Andi grinned, opening up her binder to that day's homework, which—shit—Cyrus had completely forgotten about.

"I'll be there," Cyrus murmured, trying not to let himself wonder if TJ would be there too. To distract himself, he flipped his textbook to the question section and tried to decide if it would be possible to bullshit some answers for partial credit before Mrs. Regis came around to collect it. He'd never actually missed a homework assignment before. The thought simultaneously terrified and excited him. Mostly terrified.

"Seriously?" Andi asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah, just—" the bell rang, and Cyrus's anxiety flipped into overdrive, "—um can you just... how many questions did we have to do..."

Andi took in the sight of the younger boy frantically flipping around the first chapter of their textbook and sighed, taking pity on his obvious anxiety. "Just questions 1 and 3. And I'll give you a hint, both are about the difference between prokaryotes and eukaryotes."

"Thank you Mack, you're the best," Cyrus flashed a nervous grin, tearing out a piece of paper to hurriedly write down some answers.

A few seconds later, as the last of the students fell into their seats, Cyrus heard a sigh beside him. "Fine. I guess you've earned your gift back."

Cyrus was still mostly focusing on getting something, anything, down on the paper to hand over in the next few seconds, as Andi went about rearranging her books at the front of the lab bench and digging around inside her bag.

The telltale sound of a rustling plastic bag finally pulled the younger boy's attention away from his half answered questions.

"Holy shit, are you serious? In school! In class!" Cyrus whispered, his anxiety flaring as he stared at the baggie full of definitely illegal pot that Andi was holding under the table.

"Well I wasn't going to keep it at my house," Andi whispered, shaking the bag again. "And I'm not holding on to it for another minute, so take it before it ends up in the trash, Goodman."

"You're insane," he grimaced, taking a quick look up at their teacher, who seemed to be distracted by something at her desk. In his heart of hearts, he knew this was a horrible idea. But... he really couldn't afford to repay his friends if he didn't...

"Fuck," Cyrus grabbed his duffle bag, ready to stuff the drugs away as quickly as possible, "I can't decide if you're amazing or if I fucking hate you right now."

"You can thank me—"

"Cyrus, Andi, what are you two doing back there?" Mrs. Regis's voice carried over the quiet chatter of the classroom right as Cyrus started to shove the literal evidence of his crime into his bag. The anxiety stricken teen could feel his heart drop, he life flash before his eyes as he began to image a future filled with prison, expusion, college rejection letters... 

He wanted to die.

"Nothing, ma'am," Andi was trying to give an air of nonchalance as she started digging through her bag again, not truly meeting Mrs. Regis's eye. As a class rep, she wasn't exactly used to committing crimes on school property either.

"What are you hiding in your bag?" Mrs. Regis asked, slowly walking down the aisle of benches towards the two of them. Cyrus felt his stomach twist, his throat close up as he instinctively shoved his bag back onto the ground, hoping that somehow, the teacher didn't notice.

"Nothing! I, uh... I just was looking for something..."

"I don't think so, young lady. Come on, I know a hand-off when I see one. Let's see what you've got," Mrs. Regis crossed her arms just a few feet away, and Cyrus would have been less terrified if someone was literally pointing a gun at his head. What was Andi going to do? If she didn't do something, both their bags would get searched and—

"Fine! Here," Andi raised her voice as she brought her hand out of her bag, a handful of brightly wrapped tubes crinkling against the table as she slammed them down. "It's tampons, okay? I had to ask Cyrus to pick me up some fucking tampons!"

A ripple of laughter echoed through the classroom as Mrs. Regis got an astonished look on her face.

"I—um... language, young lady!"

"Excuse me for expecting a modicum of privacy about my completely normal bodily functions!" Andi was on the edge of shouting now, and the laughter in the classroom was growing a bit louder. "Thank you, ma'am for embarrassing me in front of everyone!"

"Don't exaggerate, Ms. Mack," Mrs. Regis looked off-balance as she started walking back to her desk, clearly uncomfortable with the result of her questioning.

"Jesus," Andi muttered, shooting Cyrus a glance as she turned back to her textbook. A faint smile played at her lips as she started turning to the appropriate page.

Between the immediate feeling of relief and the absurdity of the situation, Cyrus couldn't help but join the laughter still rippling through the classroom as he and Andi smiled at each other.

**_Wednesday, 12:36 PM_ **

"Well, this was... useless." Buffy forced an exhale through her lips as she tossed yet another survey onto the ground in front of her. "For 'what features do you think the common room should have,' they put 'an open liquor bar.'"

"Ooh, you'll love this one," Cyrus smirked, waving the paper in front of his face. "This one answered 'what would make you use the common room more often,' with 'make it clothing optional.' Gotta love how anonymity brings out the best in us."

"Easy to predict," Libby signed.

"I wish your asshole friend, Marty, had kept his anonymous. He just wrote his name, number, and 'to Buffy, call me.' With a winky face. Which makes it even worse somehow."

"Ah, yeah Jonah, uh..." Cyrus's eyes darted from Buffy to Andi, who suddenly seemed very interested in what he was about to say. "I mean, Jonah... and I, um, we tried to stop him. Yeah."

"Sure you did," Andi rolled her eyes, dropping her survey into the unfortunately small pile of 'actually useful' papers.

"I'd like to say that this isn't representative of the 'real' Marty, but, well... it sort of is." Cyrus shook his head, grabbing the paper from Buffy's hand and tearing it up into shreds. "We're working on him, I swear."

"Well can you work on the staring? If I catch him looking at me across the courtyard one more time, I'm gonna knock his fucking lights out."

"I will relay the message," Cyrus grinned, falling back into his seat. As the girls started looking over another survey he surreptitiously checked his phone for the time. Most of the way through lunch, and he didn't want to call this meeting a bust, but...

He had been hoping more people would have shown up. Specifically, one other more person.

"Okay, so... that's all of them? What did we learn, other than that high school students are horrible, horrible people?"

"Well, a few things were consistent," Andi muttered, digging through the good pile. "Everyone says they like the space, they want some... couches, maybe a mattress for naps. Everyone wants to get rid of that God awful mural." All four of them turned to check out the gaudily painted wall behind her. Big bubble letters in primary colors spelling out the word 'home,' in a handful of different languages. Only the French version, _maison_ , somehow avoided having splotches of paint dripping outside the lines.

The whole thing exuded, 'The school administration is forcing us to celebrate diversity, and the art teacher is giving us extra credit to paint this.' It's a very specific emotion but somehow the mural captured it perfectly.

"Yeah that's got to go," Cyrus wrinkled his nose. A noise sounded in the hallway outside, but a quick glance out the open door revealed no one of interest.

"That's the one thing everyone seems to agree on," Buffy muttered. "That, and they want us to find a way to throw a party in a room that's less than one-hundred feet from the teacher's lounge."

"I still like my idea," Libby pointed to her survey by Andi's feet. "A speed-dating event? Every month, a line of guys and girls ready to ask me out on a date!"

"You're way too desperate for a relationship, girl," Andi shook her head, signing to her friend with deliberate judgment in her movements.

"If we're not having a party, I think it's a good choice."

"We can't have a party!"

Cyrus sat back in his chair with a sigh. It wasn't that he didn't care, but... to be honest, he definitely didn't care as much as Andi and Buffy did. Or at least, he didn't have the energy to care as much as they did. And the real reason he had given up his lunch hadn't even shown up, so—

Speak of the devil...

A semi-familiar head of blonde hair passed by the open doorway, heading towards the courtyard. Cyrus felt his stomach lurch as he recognized the backpack, the same shabby hoodie that he had been unable to find anywhere for the past three days. Not that he'd been looking particularly hard, but their school wasn't particularly huge. It was surprising that he hadn't so much as pushed by him in the hallway.

Before his opportunity to... he didn't even know what this was an opportunity for, but Cyrus knew he had to jump on it before it escaped him.

"Sorry, I just uh..." the younger teen didn't even finish his excuse, jumping from his chair and grabbing his bag fast enough to be halfway through the door before Buffy could ask, 'Where's he going?'

By the time Cyrus burst out the glass doors into the open courtyard, his target was nowhere to be seen. There were only a few places the other boy could have disappeared to, assuming he hadn't just been leaving early, but that still left five possible doors for Cyrus to pick from, and—

"There he is!" Gus's voice rang out and Cyrus had never been so frustrated to see his friends walking towards him, because if he wanted to catch up to TJ, he needed to go right that moment, and...

The young teen resigned himself to the fact that he had lost his chance. Again.

"Did you just come from the common room?" Jonah asked, silently offering Cyrus what looked like a half-bag of crushed pretzels. Despite the growling in his stomach, Cyrus found himself refusing.

"Uh... yeah?"

"I'm surprised, you seem really into that thing," Jonah shrugged, tossing the snack back into the trash. "I mean, more power to ya', maybe you can make it cool? Or at least not as lame?"

"No, it's not that. I just... I mean, yeah, I guess—"

"We get it, Cy," Gus winked, looking very proud of himself. "You don't have to come up with excuses if you wanna spend your lunch with some girls."

"Was Buffy there?" Marty looked up from his phone, suddenly interested in the conversation. "Did she say anything about me? You made sure she got my number, right?"

"Anything about you? Uh... nope," Cyrus shrugged. "You didn't come up."

"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure I saw Buffy giving me 'the look—"

"Let me help you out, here, before you get yourself killed," Gus threw his arm around Marty's shoulder. It was a bit of a reach, since Marty had a good 4 inches on the red-headed teen, but Gus mostly pulled it off. "Buffy. Is not. Interested."

"No, no, no," Marty grinned, shaking his head, "Let me help you out—"

"Hey, Cyrus!" Cyrus felt himself tense up as Iris's voice popped into his ears from behind. "How's it going?"

The suddenly anxious teen turned around slowly as he heard his friends' voices pause. Iris was smiling happily next to a blonde girl—the blonde girl from the party, Cyrus realized, Maria—excitedly bouncing as she waited for his reply. 

"Good," Cyrus replied as noncommittally as possible. Then a quick nod before turning back to his—

"What are you up to this Friday?" Iris continued. "Because Maria and I are having a party at her house. Well, a get-together. Well, like, drunken Disney movies. Nothing huge, but you're all invited if you're interested." The blonde next to her offered a soft smile towards the boys, and Cyrus could hear Marty losing brain-cells behind him.

"That's uh... that's really sweet, Iris," Cyrus plastered on the biggest smile he could muster as the realization struck him that he had... absolutely zero desire to go to that party. "Um, unfortunately—it's just really bad timing, but we have, uh..."

"Nothing!" Jonah shouted, stepping forward to throw his arm around Cyrus's shoulder, squeezing him to his side just a little too tight. "We have nothing at all. We would absolutely love to join you."

"We'll even bring the beer," Gus offered, ever the gentleman.

"Cool!" Iris grinned, eyes shifting from one boy to another before finally settling on Cyrus. He could tell there was more to the look she was giving him, he just... didn't want to know what it was. "That's awesome, I—uh, we—will send you the address!" 

Iris wasn't even through the doors of the school before his friend started ganging up oh the youngest of the group.

"Cyrus! What the hell is wrong with you," Marty grabbed Cyrus's shoulders, voice somewhere between a whisper and a scream.

"Are you crazy?" Gus stepped forward, prying the athlete's hands away from their scrawny friend. "First of all, never turn down a party. Second, never turn down a party invite from cute girls. And third, I mean... shit! With cute, senior girls?"

"Can't keep it just the boys forever," Jonah winked, nudging Cyrus's side.

"Guys, I... I mean, look. I've spoken to Iris, like, what... three times? And it's like she's popping up around every corner! She keeps looking at me like... like she's obsessed or something. It's weird," Cyrus wrinkled his nose, switching his bag from one shoulder to the other. "It's weird and—honestly?—a little stressful."

"I seriously don't get you, Cy." Gus shook his head, an unbelieving smile on his face. "She's into you! I mean, I know you've always sucked at dealing with girls but this is what they're like when they're interested! Seriously, you're lucky to have us around, or you'd have just ruined your chance right there."

Cyrus knew it was futile, trying to explain to his friends that he wasn't, actually, interested. Especially since he could barely think about _why_ he wasn't interested without getting fucking distracted by... sure enough, a flash of blonde hair in the corner of his eye drew his attention away from his friends—still happily ragging on him—until he realized it was just a freshman he didn't know.

"I swear," Gus's voice continued, "sometimes I get the feeling you're not even interested."

**_Wednesday, 9:34 PM_ **

“So, anyway, what you're about to hear is my song, Polaris, playing over some rough sketches that I planned out for the video.” TJ’s voice was once again playing through Cyrus’s ear buds as the GoFundMe video stuttered along towards its conclusion on his crappy data plan. This wasn’t the first time he’d watched all the way through the older teen’s explanation of his project, but his mind had been wandering back to TJ’s smile all day, and he was hoping that watching the video would get his brain to calm down enough to let him study for a Calculus quiz.

“I hope this helps convince you to participate in the project,” Cyrus unconsciously mouthed along with the words as the video continued. His eyes stayed on the screen as it faded to black momentarily before opening on a roughly drawn still image with an energetic song playing over it.

Polaris, Cyrus had decided the day before, was not a great song. It was some weird conglomeration of pop, hip-hop, and white boy rap that left little question as to why the project was mostly unfunded. But for some reason, that just made everything even more endearing. It made the idea of TJ more endearing, that this guy would put so much energy into an—in Cyrus's opinion—objectively bad song, and put it out in the world like that. And, honestly, the images on screen helped. Every time he watched the video, he found himself thinking that the guy should give up on a music career and get himself into animation. The storyboard sketches slowly fading into each other on his phone were... exceptional.

They were rough, yeah, but TJ had still taken the time to shade them and draw in simple backgrounds. The character representing him even had a hoodie. It was just... Cyrus could feel something in his chest, in his gut, as the image changed to one that was especially detailed. All the pictures were focused on these two characters, one that was obviously TJ and one that was an almost shapeless figure cloaked in darkness, but the sketch where the two were reaching for each other at the border of their two worlds was just... it was drawn with such loving detail. Cyrus could feel it—could feel his heart squeezing and his throat getting tight. Even the overly-sappy words of the song did nothing to detract from the scene in his mind.

He was just sitting there on his bed, back against his pillows, trying desperately to not think about why this video was affecting him so much, and then...

The kiss. The almost kiss. The video ended on an image of the two figures, almost touching, lips divided by a thin line of darkness and...

Cyrus knew he wasn't an idiot. He knows what it feels like when he really, truly _wants_ something. He felt it all the time when he was a kid, when he saw all his friends with normal, functioning, loving families. He suffered through it when he met Jonah, making a conscious decision to never figure out why his heart used to squeeze every time his best friend tried to teach him how to properly high-five.

And there he was, feeling it again—feeling that obnoxious fucking yearning for... something—as he sat alone on his bed, no friends or family in sight, watching a rough sketch of a boy he barely knew lean in to kiss an amorphous blob.

The video faded to black and Cyrus was left staring at his phone, asking himself why he never felt his heart beat like that for Iris. For any girl, for that matter. It stuck in his head—why did his brain never, ever, ever get like this for a girl.

Cyrus knew he wasn't an idiot. He knew the question didn't really need to be asked. It's not like he hadn't already figured out the answer.

He just...

When Cyrus was a freshman and Amber was a senior, she drove him home from school sometimes, when his mom had clients and his dad was too busy with his new wife. Even though she wasn't technically his babysitter anymore, that was when she started getting... protective of him. And one time, while they were stopped at a red light, Amber took a deep breath, turned to the quiet teenager sitting in her passenger seat, and asked him if he knew how to hide his porn from his mother.

After Cyrus finished freaking out, insisting that he didn't look at porn—that he knew how evil it was—Amber laughed, shook her head, and squeezed the flustered boy's shoulder. And then she told him two things that would stick with him for a very, very long time: porn isn't evil, it's just an unfiltered view into what people like; and, there was a thing called 'incognito' mode that he needed to learn how to use before he thought about getting interested.

Even though he didn't live under the snooping eyes of his mom anymore, he still turned on incognito mode as he launched a new browser window on his laptop. It gave him a sense of... protection. And maybe separation. And certainly, as he watched himself type 'gay chat' into the search bar, it let him convince himself that maybe it didn't... count. 

It didn't count as he clicked on a website he'd heard Reed mention at least once. It didn't count as he lied about his age and made an account with absolutely no information about himself. And it certainly didn't count as he started looking through the pictures. It didn't count that he stared at a picture of a lean guy in tight briefs for almost a full minute.

It didn't count, because, if it counted... that would mean it also counted when he did the same thing a week ago. And then two days before that. And five days before that.

And Cyrus knew he wasn't an idiot, but... none of those counted.

And besides, accidentally finding Reed's profile and realizing too late that the headless pale torso looked familiar...

Yeah, that definitely didn't count.

**_Friday, 4:07 PM_ **

"You're forgetting," Cyrus argued excitedly as he and his friends walked out of school at the end of a very, very long week. "Doctor Strange had to keep the truth from Tony, or he never would have done what he had to do."

"I'm not forgetting anything," Gus shoved at Cyrus's shoulder lightly. "I never forget anything. I'm just saying, it was still a dick move."

"It was necessary to save half the universe!"

"Necessary my ass. There were like ten other ways they could have done it. And besides—"

"Will one of you please win this fucking argument so that we can move on?" Marty yelled as he shoved himselft between the two other teens. "You've been talking about this bullshit since lunch!"

"Well, Marty, how about you come up with something, 'cause Cy and I can keep doing this all day." The red-head looked over at his shorter friend, who nodded his affirmation.

“Or maybe we can talk about when one of you fuckers is going to take this, uh... package,” Cyrus patted at the inside pocket of his bag, shooting a quick look over his shoulder for eavesdroppers, “off my hands. I feel like a drug mule. I’m just waiting for the inevitable bag search to seal my doom.”

“Dude, nobody asked you to bring it to school,” Marty shook his head.

“Well, I—what do you—fuck!” Cyrus sputtered. “I don’t know what I’m doing with this! None of you will come get it from my apartment! Please, take it from me.”

“Just hold on to it ‘til tonight.”

"Finally we get to something interesting," Jonah threw his arm around Cyrus's shoulder. "Everyone ready for tonight’s party? What’s the plan, Cy? We’re counting on you! We're still on, right?"

"Yeah, we are... I mean, it’s not like we absolutely have to, though. If you don’t want to. Like, are we, uh... one-hundred percent sure this is how we want to be spending our Friday night? There's so many different—"

"I swear, If you say one more word I will drop you off at the mental hospital myself because you have lost your damn mind," Marty muttered, shaking his head.

"Woah, hey," Jonah warned in a gentle voice. 

"No, it's okay, they know me there," Marty smirked, reaching up to ruffle Cyrus's hair. "But seriously, gentlemen. We do have a plan, right? We need to do this right if I want to have a chance with Maria."

"So now we're back on Maria?" Gus rolled his eyes. "What happened to Buffy? She finally follow through on one of her threats?" He mimed what was probably supposed to be Buffy’s threat to do something unspeakable with a pair of scissors.

"I just don't know anymore, boys. I mean, Buffy and I, we've got that... intense sexual tension, y'know? But it's too much cat and mouse. I want her, she wants me, both playing the game but neither of us willing to make a move—"

"Oh my god, he's full-on delusional..." Cyrus muttered.

"—But did you see the look Maria gave me when she invited me to her party?" Cyrus decided not to correct Marty, shaking his head in disbelief. "No games there. She is down. I can tell."

"I'm trying to decide if your goal is to be slapped by as many women as possible before you graduate, or if you're just... stumbling into it. But..."

"Alright, alright, well while you losers are singing drunken Disney karaoke, don't go wonderin' why me and Maria disappear for a while."

"Right...” Gus rolled his eyes, turning away from Marty as he addressed his other friends. “Speaking of drunk, which one of you is getting the beers tonight? Cause... I’m tapped out.”

A moment of silence passed between the group as the boys all looked at each other, the same mental calculation running behind all four sets of eyes.

Marty and Jonah had bought the weed for all four of them. Gus had scored the beer for the last two get-togethers the group had. That just left...

"Cy-guy!" Marty and Jonah squeezed their younger friend between the two of them, obnoxiously big smiles on their faces.

"Baby's first beer run!" Marty wiped away a fake tear, pulling Cyrus against his side even as the smaller teen tried to push him away. "They grow up so fast."

"Seriously, guys? Ugh! Get away from me, asshole, you smell like a locker room," with a shove, Cyrus was finally able to push himself away from the grip of his athletic friend and wiping at an imaginary stain on his shoulder. "Fuck, can’t I just... I don't know how to do something like this."

"Just ask Reed, man." Jonah shrugged, tossing his skateboard on the ground and pushing himself a few feet ahead of the group.

"Yeah, I usually have to pay a homeless guy outside Seven-Eleven to do it." Gus chimed in. "You live with a fucking college student! If anything, the beer should be your responsibility every time!"

"Ask him to pick up, like... two twelve packs? That should be enough, I think? Yeah."

“Make it three,” Marty chimed in.

"I'm not an idiot, guys. I wasn't going to just, like, walk in and try to buy it myself. But..."

"Hey, you got this man," Jonah looked back with a supportive smile, almost tipping over the front of his board in the process. "Just text us when you get the address. I'll pick you up, you can spend the night at my place."

"Yeah, I just..." There was a lot of this plan the Cyrus wasn't a huge fan of—as much as anything illegal freaked him out, getting the beer was actually the least of his worries.

"Unless he finds a bed with someone else," Marty crooned, slapping the shoulder of his anxiety-ridden friend as he passed. 

Cyrus looked up from the ground, unsure what to say next, only to realize that they had already reached his bus stop. 

"Yeah... fine," the youngest said to no one in particular. Marty and Jonah continued on, waving their goodbyes without turning around as Cyrus pulled out his phone.

"Hey, if you need me to spot you the money," Gus's voice was quiet as he leaned against the bus stop marker. "It's not a problem." 

“Thanks, but... I got it," Cyrus whispered, not wanting to meet his friend's eyes.

Gus knew better than to push it any farther.

"Alright, well... see you in a bit."

And then Cyrus was alone. Again.

Money. It makes the world go round, and it was making Cyrus’s life a living hell. He needed his Dad to follow through with the money. He needed him to follow through in general. For once. To stop focusing on his new wife and new step-kid long enough to remember had a son—someone actually related to him—that needed to eat.

It made his stomach twist and flutter, but he knew the best way to motivate his father after days of no response wasn’t with kindness. He was going to need to use sensationalism. And threats.

At least writing it in a text was easier than talking on the phone.

_Cyrus: Dad. If I can’t pay rent soon, they’re going to kick me out of the apartment. And I WILL show up on your doorstep with all my stuff. Assuming I haven’t starved to death first._

It felt wrong, using the idea of his presence to threaten his father.

But Cyrus knew that, when his dad finally got around to reading the message, it would do the job. It was pretty much the only thing that ever worked.

Regardless of the response, nothing was going to change in the next hour—he’d be lucky if his dad responded before the end of the weekend—so paying for beer was still going to be... hard.

Cyrus didn’t want to check his bank account. He already knew it was frighteningly low. And that meant he needed to ask for help. Again.

And he hated asking for help.

But he hated being a disappointment even more.

_Cyrus: hey Reed, best roommate in the world, can I borrow $20?_

_Cyrus: and then can you buy me and my friends beer with that $20? please? I promise I’ll pay you back._

The second message had barely registered in the chat window before a typing bubble pop up. If there was one good thing about Reed, it was that he always responded faster than seemed reasonably possible.

_Reed: sorry, little sparrow. until this guy i kno hands over the rent he owes, the first national bank of Reed is broke af._

_Reed: besides, if i’m buying booze for delinquent youths, you will be paying me a premium for my services. Luv ya._

Cyrus couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips.

He’d expected that, he did, but it still hurt to watch your last hope die in front of you. The reasonable portion of his brain told him that he was lucky Reed hadn’t gotten pissed at him just for asking. But a much louder part of him just felt an intense frustration.

Of all the changes he’d had to make after leaving his Mom’s house, the sudden and intense money troubles were the most difficult to adjust to. The first time in his life that he had the freedom to buy things he wanted—the freedom to want things to buy—and his monthly ‘allowance’ was barely enough to keep him fed.

He knew he’d have to get a job eventually—even if the entire agreement with his dad was predicted on him staying jobless to focus on school—but... was it really so bad if he wanted to put that off and enjoy his free time for as long as possible?

“Looks like someone’s having a rough day.”

Suddenly, his thought process was shattered by a voice pushing itself into his head. A familiar voice. A voice Cyrus had fallen asleep to at least twice in the past week.

Startled, the younger boy’s voice cracked, “Holy shit, you... I mean—No, I’m uh... I’m fine.” The younger boy coughed, trying to pretend he hadn't just let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Mmm, the bags under your eyes are saying otherwise.” TJ grinned, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he pointed towards his own set of dark bags below his eyes.

“You know, most people would accept ‘I’m fine’ at face value.” As he muttered, Cyrus rubbed his forearm against his cheek, as if that might erase any evidence of the week he’d endured.

“Well, Cyrus, I guess I’m just... weird,” another grin, another punch to Cyrus’s gut as he tried to pretend that his interest level in this guy was at all normal. “But okay, I’ll respect your ‘fine’ for now. Doing anything fun tonight?”

“Uh... maybe. I mean—yeah. I’m supposed to be going to a party tonight. With, um... with some friends.” Cyrus looked down at his phone again, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hell yeah! I mean, no offense, but you look like you need a night out.”

“Okay, um, a little offense,” Cyrus tried to hold back his smile as he put on an offended pout. “I’ll have you know I’m dealing with some... some issues, here.”

TJ didn’t appear to be at all fooled by the younger boy’s faking, leaning in with intrigue in his eyes.

“Oh yeah, whats up?”

“Well, most recently I’ve been tasked with getting beer for the party. But, uh...” he shrugged, not really sure if he was sharing too much, “no money, no booze.”

“Oh, maybe I can help,” TJ grinned, looking up at an approaching bus.

“I, uh... Really, I’m good. Besides, I can’t take your money. I’ll probably never be able to pay you back.”

“Who said anything about money,” TJ stood, glancing over his shoulder at the boy still on the bench. “I’m broke as fuck. But I have beer, if you want it.”

“You just... have beer?” Cyrus asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, at my house,” the blond shrugged. “It’s a long story. You can come get some if you want.”

“Uh, I could...?” As he tried to process what was being offered, the bus pulled up, opening its door directly in front of the older teen.

“Unless that’s too ‘weird,’” TJ smirked, turning to enter the bus. “C’mon! The bus waits for no man!”

As he hurriedly gathered his bags and hopped to his feet, Cyrus told himself he was only going along with this for the beers.

It was a lie, but he repeated it every few minutes when TJ’s grin caught his eye.

**_Friday, 5:12 PM_ **

“Welcome to Chateau Kippen,” the older teen said with a flourish as he pushed open the door to a messy apartment on the top floor of his building.

The bus ride had been pleasant, if quiet. Though, if Cyrus was being honest, the quiet had been a large part of the pleasantness. Despite spending the entire week with a brain buzzing with questions about the boy standing in front of him, actually sitting next to him had rendered him mostly speechless. And TJ hadn’t forced anything, occasionally trying to exchange pleasantries about school, but sitting back with a big smile when Cyrus’s awkwardness killed any conversation before it could start.

Instead, the younger teen had spent most of the ride staring out the window, staring at the river and then a large park as the bus wound its way through a part of town he wasn’t too familiar with.

“I know, it’s a mess, but it’s been two weeks since I had someone yelling at me to clean up.” TJ said sheepishly as Cyrus walked into the main space.

“So, you naturally devolve into living in a pigsty?” Cyrus joked, hoping immediately after the words left his mouth that he wasn’t pushing too hard.

“Oh, he’s rude! Okay. I see how it is,” TJ smirked closing the door behind them as Cyrus took in the sight of the living room.

Entire outfits of dirty clothes were strewn across the main room, and one of the couches held almost as many empty chip bags as cushions. The effect was very... disgusting teen boy. Cyrus said a silent prayer, thankful that his roommates at least kept their messes to their own rooms.

“Your parents let you live like this?” Cyrus poked at an empty cup-o’-noodles, voice filled with a list of unasked questions.

“They’ll yell at me when they get back,” TJ’s voice called out from another room. “But they travel for work so... it’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.”

“Disgusting,” Cyrus let out a chuckle. As he waited for the older teen—his new friend?—to re-emerge, he let his gaze wander across the walls of the room. A record player sat below a cluster of pictures—some of landscapes, some of a younger TJ standing in front of two blonde adults. They littered the larger walls, every few inches a picture of a smiling face. The smallest wall was entirely covered by a large cork-board, filled mostly with pinned-on sketches, notes, calendars, and full on drawings. 

He recognized some of the drawings and sketches from the Polaris video—they were even more alluring in person—but that was a small proportion of images littered among an ocean of images of...

A raccoon?

“Here we go,” TJ emerged from the other room holding a full case of beer in one hand, and two free cans in the other. “Beer. Gift of the gods.”

“Are you actually giving me just, uh... a suitcase? Of beer?”

“It’s all leftovers.” TJ shrugged, dismissively. “I could drink it all myself, but I think that might be called alcoholism.”

“Seriously, though. This is...” Cyrus hefted the cardboard case by the handle, feeling the weight if the cans inside shift. “I’d say it’s sweet but you are technically committing a crime, so I’ll just stick with ‘Thank you.’”

“Committing a crime... what, are you gonna rat me out?”

“You never know...” Cyrus caught himself smiling—a coy smile that just played on his lips but burned mostly in his eyes—and realized suddenly he had no idea what he was doing.

“Well, shit. Better enjoy my freedom while I can.” TJ offered the one of the beers, cracking open the other with one hand. “Want one before you go?”

“I guess it’s technically 5 o’clock...” Cyrus hesitated staring at the silvery can the older teen held out to him. He doubted he would actually enjoy the taste of what was inside.

“Not like you’re driving, right?” TJ lightly shook the can, as if Cyrus might have forgotten it was there.

A moment of silence passed—just long enough for Cyrus to look up at the goofy grin the other teen was wearing as his horrible joke flopped—and a single thought crystallized in his mind.

Fuck it.

“Did you draw these?” Cyrus asked, motioning to the cork-board as he accepted the beverage.

“I did. Most of ‘em are old, though.” TJ, apparently unbothered by his swig of the bitter beer, pointed at a smattering of raccoon drawings. “I’m much better at drawing myself now.”

“Drawing... yourself?” Cyrus stepped closer, examining one of the sketches more intently. “Either you’re delusional or I am, because you do not have that much fur in real life.”

“Wanna bet?”

Cyrus hid the fact that he had no idea how to answer that by taking a large mouthful of his drink and trying not to wince.

“No, but seriously. It’s my favorite animal!” TJ fell onto the couch pushing what looked like a shirt onto the floor.

“A raccoon?”

“A raccoon! They’re cool, they’re shifty... you never know what they’re up to. And they’re always wearing that mask.”

“Okay,” Cyrus laughed, turning from the wall to meet the older teen’s eyes, “I think I can see it.”

“Yeah, now he gets it!”

“So what about me?” Cyrus asked, that unfamiliar smile still playing on his lips. “If you had to draw me, what would it be?”

TJ shifted on the couch, as if turning to get a better look at the short, brown-haired boy. Cyrus could feel the evaluation, see lines of thought running behind his eyes, and he found that... he didn’t mind.

In fact, he felt he felt satisfied. Normally he shied away from too much attention—felt his stomach turn when eyes were on him—but as he felt his heart settle and his smile widen, he couldn’t lie. He wanted this.

The attention, the joking, the leading questions. The banter, the play, and that grin...

“I don’t know.” TJ said, breaking the silence with a soft smile. “I’d have to see.”

“Let me know when you figure it out,” Cyrus flirted—that was the exact moment that he realized he was flirting, and the exact moment be realized he was enjoying it—and immediately downed another large mouthful of his drink.

“Do you wanna sit?” TJ gestured towards the other cushion beside him, clearing the chip bags hurriedly. “I’d, uh... I’d offer you something to smoke but I’m afraid I’m all out.”

“Well now it’s my turn to help,” Cyrus grinned, reaching into his bag to pull his stash out of the secret inside pocket. “Cause I just happen to have... this!”

“Hell. Fucking. Yes.” TJ leaned forward eagerly, opening the baggie and inhaling deeply with a satisfied smile on his face. “Now we’ve got a party.”

And as the older teen got up to go search his room for rolling papers, Cyrus sat on the couch and finished a beer faster than he ever had before.

And then he decided, bolstered by the light floating feeling beginning to dab at the edge of his mind, that he wasn’t going to stop.

**_Friday, 6:53 PM_ **

Cyrus was drunk. Which was probably not a great idea.

But, then again, so was TJ. So, it couldn’t have been that bad.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” TJ’s head lolled against the back of the couch, the leftover nub of a joint still held between the fingers of an overly-gesticulating hand. “I’ve never been able to do math and science. Literature, history... that’s my shit. I can make your knees weak with facts about pre-Tudor England. Charm your pants off with a poetic metaphor about... butterflies or some shit.”

“Sure you can,” Cyrus turned his head a few degrees but otherwise was very comfortable in his position on the couch. “I’ll stick with science thank you very much. You can keep your poems and... your emotional introspection.”

The buzz of his phone against his leg reminded Cyrus, just for a moment, that there was a world outside that hazy apartment. Then TJ sat up suddenly, calling for music with excitement in his voice, and it felt like he was starting to come out of a very pleasant dream.

“You can’t have a party without music.” Ignoring the fact that they’d been doing exactly that for the last two hours, TJ pushed himself up off the couch and approached a record player that Cyrus had honestly assumed was just an aesthetic accent. “What should we listen to, hmm?”

“Wait that thing actually plays music? I can’t believe you have an actual, usable record player,” Cyrus grinned, digging his phone out of his pocket. “So hipster of you. What’s next, a rousing jazz tune?”

_Iris sent a facebook message at 6:06 PM_

_Iris Labelle: Maria’s address is 34 Minsky Blvd._

_Iris Labelle: Lion King starts at 7!!! Be there or be square._

“You really think I’m a jazz guy?” Cyrus looked up from his phone to see TJ examining a shelf of records on the opposite wall.

The younger teen smiled and thought of the monstrosity that was ‘Polaris.’ “Yes.”

“Oh my god! You asshole! You have no idea how much that hurts to hear!” The blond teen shouted over his shoulder, a fake-wounded expression in his eyes.

As the TJ turned back to the shelf, muttering something about, ‘showing you what kind of guy I am,’ Cyrus took the opportunity to looked back down at his phone.

And in the easiest choice he’d made all night, decided he wasn’t ready for this... whatever it was, to end.

_Cyrus: im so sorry but im feeling really shitty. I don’t know if im gonna make it out tonight._

“Here we go!” TJ’s voice rose in excitement as he turned around holding up a thin black disk of plastic. “A jazz guy. I swear. You, Goodman, are about to learn a very important lesson. Here. Tonight.”

_Cyrus: jo, can you let the guys know its not gonna happen tonight? Sorry, just not feeling up to it._

“And what lesson is that?” Cyrus grinned, catching the quick pop-up of Iris’s reply— _oh no. Let me kno ok? Feel better_ —before turning his phone to ‘Do Not Disturb’ and shoving it back in his pocket.

“First of all... never! Judge a man! Based on his equipment,” TJ grinned, lowering the record onto the player and picking up the needle.

“Fair enough. And what’s second?”

“That you can put any kind of music on a vinyl record.”

A second of scratching was followed by a sudden drop into the energetic bass-line of something Marty had once described to him as ‘trap music.’

Cyrus absolutely hated it.

“What the fuck,” the younger teen laughed, sitting up slightly from the back of the couch as TJ began hopping around.

“Welcome to the 21st century, bitch!” TJ shouted over the music, swinging his hand in small, quick arcs to the beat.

“You’re insane. You’re crazy and I’m embarrassed for you,” Cyrus shook his head, unable to hold back his laughter as the floating sensation in his head intensified with the music.

“You’ll learn to love it!” the older teen shouted, lowering himself into another chair with a smile.

“I doubt it!” It really did sound awful. Grating and loud and impossible to hold a conversation over. But TJ seemed so pleased with himself.

And as the giggles began to fill his chest, Cyrus had absolutely no desire to stop anything.

**_Friday, 7:34 PM_ **

The record had been skipping for a full minute without either of them acknowledging the suddenly silence in the apartment.

“You have no intention of changing that, do you?” The feeling of floating, while still present, had lessened over the course of the record. But even being high—contrary to TJ’s insistence—hadn’t been enough to get Cyrus to enjoy the music. Even after TJ corrected on the name—apparently it was called _dubstep_.

But he had very much enjoyed watching TJ listen to it.

And—maybe it was the intoxicating substances speaking—but he got the feeling that TJ had gotten just as much enjoyment out of watching him hate it.

“You are... correct,” the older teen grinned, turning his head until he could meet Cyrus’s eyes.

“Fine,” Cyrus sighed, breaking eye contact as he stood. “I’ll do it.”

Standing—after a quick wave of light-headedness—seemed to do some work at sobering the young teen up. Returning the finished record to the shelf, he felt his head clearing a little—not enough to know what he was looking for, but enough to recognize that what he’d thought was a weirdly shaped table was actually a closed up keyboard.

“You play piano?” Cyrus asked, glancing over his shoulder at the lounging teen on the couch.

The full-faced smile TJ leaned up to give him felt like all the confirmation he needed that there was... a connection between them. He could only look at it for a moment before he had to turn back around, lifting the lid and revealing an array of black and white keys.

“No. Well, I mastered ‘Chopsticks’ at the age of six. Decided to end my career on a high note.”

“Do you mind?”

“Be my guest,” TJ leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Maybe you can teach me about ‘real music.’”

“Is that what you want?” Cyrus asked, testing out a couple of the keys. His fingers were still a little clumsy, but... it had been almost a year since he’d been able to sit at a piano with a clear mind, anyway. What was a little casual intoxication compared to what his mom used to have him on?

“Do you need sheet music?” TJ chuckled.

“Mmm... I’m good,” another three notes, slow and thoughtful. It sounded different from the piano he was used to at home, but not out of tune. He repeated the notes again, slower.

“I have a triangle too, if that’s more your speed.”

Cyrus chose not to respond. Shifting instead to center himself on the instrument. A pause, a deep breath, and then without waiting for TJ to come up with another comment, he began.

Cyrus goodman was uncoordinated, clumsy, and generally out of touch with his body. In most cases. Well, in all cases except one.

It turns out, 10 years of daily piano practice under they eye of his mother could make something beautiful out of even the dumbest of hands.

Perhaps one of the few good things his mom had ever done.

The song he began building from the keyboard was not the most complicated he had memorized. But it was one of his favorites. Normally he would add flourishes and riffs as he played—the type of thing his mom hated—but in his current state it was all he could do to just hit the right notes at the right time as he started playing. But soon the rhythm, the gentle repetitions of growth and shrinking, his hands each dancing their own waltz in perfect harmony... he fell into it. He grew in confidence, missing a few notes as he glanced over his shoulder and saw that TJ was leaning all way forward, completely focused on what he was doing.

Seeing the other teen connect with the music, with what he was doing, drove him to put even more into his playing. Back to the keys, he put his whole body into the notes, letting the reverberations echo through him. He extended himself through the music. He wanted it to say something.

Cyrus doubted TJ would know, but the song was title ‘I Love You.’ And...

When he finished, the last note drifting into the air, the apartment fell silent. He could feel TJ staring at his back, and it took all his self control to turn around slowly.

“That was... amazing,” TJ whispered, suddenly blinking himself back to reality.

“It’s no chopsticks, but...” there was so much tension, such an intense stare, Cyrus couldn’t stop himself from breaking it with a lame attempt at humor.

“You’re... surprising.”

“Thanks,” he felt a soft smile pulling at the edge of his lips. TJ’s approval sounded so sweet in his ears and—Cyrus isn’t an idiot—he was starting to get a handle on why.

“I like surprising people.”

Cyrus didn’t know how to respond to that.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have to. As the two boys stared at each other across the hazy living room, a buzzing on the table broke the silence. Snapping back into reality, TJ swiped open his messages and immediately started swearing.

“Shit... I totally forgot. I’m supposed to be going out with some friends! I have to get ready.”

“Oh, um, right.” Cyrus tried not to look disappointed as he stood up from the piano bench. “Me too, actually. Have to get to the, uh... the party.”

All too fast, TJ was making sure he had his things, apologizing for the sudden ending as Cyrus hugged the case of beer to his chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay to get home?” The older teen asked. “I feel like shit kicking you out all of a sudden.” 

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine,” Cyrus said, still trying to bring himself down from whatever world he’d been living in for the past two hours.

“This was... really cool,” TJ grinned, leaning against the door frame with a smile. “We should hang out again.”

“Anytime!” Cyrus answered, almost too fast.

“Okay,” the older boy chuckled, “well, see ya—actually, hold up.”

Cyrus froze, half turned from the door, completely unsure what to do as TJ reached forward, his outstretched fingers gently brushing the younger boy’s cheek. Cyrus felt his breath catch in his throat—he thought he saw the other teen leaning down. He thought he knew what that meant. And in that moment, he decided that he wanted it. He felt himself swallow, breathe, prepared himself for the pressure of lips on lips when—the hand gently grabbed a stray strand of hair and tucked it behind his ear.

“Sorry, that’s been bothering me all night.”

Cyrus’s eyes flashed up to TJ’s still perfectly styled hair, speechless. The only thought able to make its way through his mind was... ‘that... was gay.’

“Alright, well. I’ll see you at school yeah?”

“Um... yeah.” Cyrus choked out, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Have a good time at your party,” with another one of those full-faced smiles, TJ turned away, closing the door on a... very confused teenage boy. Cyrus stood there for a few seconds, staring, and... reevaluating.

His steps were heavy and slow as he started walking towards the bus stop, he barely made it fifty feet before he remembered why he was carrying a—very conspicuous—case of beer through the streets.

A spare sweater thrown over the cardboard and Cyrus finally sobered up enough to realize he’d fucked up. The angry texts from his friends, and Iris, calling him out for not responding, for ruining the night... those clued him in too.

But as he turned to give one more look at TJ’s apartment building, he had trouble deciding if he regretted his choices.

There would be other parties. His friends would get over it.

For the first time in his life, Cyrus had made a connection, and felt it be returned. 

He wasn’t ready to say what it meant, but...

As he was staring, the front door opened and TJ jogged out, looking in the other direction as he made his way to the street. Cyrus was tempted to call out—part of him wanted to ask if he could join his night out—but just as he made the decision to clear his throat, he watched as a girl rounded the corner and greeted the older teen. She looked to be TJ’s age, almost as tall as him with long limbs, darker skin, and hair pulled into a tight set of braids.

And then he watched as TJ returned the greeting with a kiss—a long, deep kiss on the lips. 

And then he watches as the blond teen slipped his hand down to intertwine his fingers with hers as the began to walk away.

And then, as he stood there, feeling an emptiness and an anger and a frustration that he’d never experienced before, he decided:

The whole night? The connection he’d felt?

That didn’t count, either.


	3. Infiltration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cyrus tries even harder to convince himself that there's nothing to see between him and TJ, his new friends in the common room decide to make his life even more stressful by doing perhaps the stupidest possible thing Cyrus can think of.

**_Monday, 8:07 AM_ **

It was already a shitty day for Cyrus. First, it was raining, and the miserable teen had gotten soaked while running between the bus stop and the school. Second, he had his first test of the year—in AP US History—and he was completely unprepared. And, to top it all off, now he couldn't find his pen case. Which was just... the worst. He'd practically cleared out his locker before he gave up hopes of finding it crammed away somewhere. When he emerged from the depths of his locker, feeling the ball of frustration growing in his chest, he found himself with even more proof that the world hated him. Because standing there, hesitant looks on their faces, were his three best friends, and Cyrus had no idea what they were about to say.

He figured they'd be upset—he'd prepared himself for that. But he'd also turned off his phone immediately after getting back to the apartment on Friday night, and left it like that the entire weekend, so he had no idea how much shit he was in over his... betrayal seemed like a fitting word.

"Hey, dude," Gus was the first to break the awkward silence, offering his hand for a friendly fist-bump as if the reservation lacing his words wasn't obvious to all four of them. "How's it goin?"

"How're you doin, man?" Jonah asked at the same time, tugging on the straps of his bag.

Cyrus kept his mouth shut—nodding in response and returning Gus's fist-bump—silently hoping that all had been forgiven. Silence was the best option. If he opened his mouth, he knew the only thing that would bubble out would be a lame apology. And if that wasn't necessary, he wasn't going to be the one to force it.

If his friends were past it, there was no reason to—

"What the fuck happened to the plan, dude?" Marty's voice burst out of his throat filled with righteous indignation.

Jonah was the first to respond. "Hey—"

"No, did you see Instagram? We missed an awesome party!" Cyrus felt his face fall, unable to respond. He had fucked up. And he couldn't even explain why.

Not to his friends. Definitely not to Jonah. He could barely explain it to himself.

"Dude, calm down," Jonah reached out an rested his hand on Marty's shoulder in a calming gesture. "It was one party with some girls. We've got two more years to—"

"Calm down? Fuck you! It was with hot senior girls and now—guess what? They're not gonna invite us to shit! This was my chance to hook up with Maria!"

"All right, come on, man," Gus mirrored Jonah's shoulder grab, and as he watched, Cyrus got the distinct feeling that his two friends were holding Marty back. "Don't worry, those girls didn't give a shit about you. The only person who screwed themselves out of future invites is Cy."

"Am I missing something here?" Marty asked, sounding exasperated. "Did he pay you guys off, or something? Why are we defending him?"

"No one's defending him!" Gus pushed at his glasses, frustrated. "But it was just a party! So just... stop freaking out!" Their voices were getting loud. Loud enough that Cyrus began to worry about drawing a crowd

"No! He needs to fuckin'—"

"I'm sorry, Marty. Alright? I'm sorry I screwed up." Cyrus stepped forward, mind racing for what to say next. He didn't want them asking questions—he'd been ignoring those questions himself all weekend.

"I'd fuckin' hope so," Marty glared, voice lowering to more of an acceptable volume. 

"I just..." The smaller teen hesitated, scanning the faces in front of him as his mind tried to come up with something he could say that would keep them away from the truth. Keep them away from the fact that he'd ditched them for some guy that... nothing. He just needed an excuse.

He caught Jonah's eye and saw the distress hidden behind that astonishing blue. Saw the worry there. It was horrible, but that gave him an idea.

"I had a shitty weekend at home, man. I—I know that's not an excuse. But..."

"What do you mean?" Jonah took a half step closer, the naked concern in his voice sending a flash of guilt through the youngest of the group. But he had already made his decision.

"I, um... I don't want to—it was just my Mom." Cyrus lied, trying to fight off the tightening in his throat. He couldn't bear to meet any of his friends' eyes, staring at the shining floors of the school hallway instead.

"Then you should'a just given us the damn address!" Marty shouted, still unforgiving as he threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Hey, hey—seriously," Cyrus saw Gus's hand squeeze Marty's shoulder a little tighter before the redhead turned to face him, "what's up with your mom?"

Cyrus paused again as the nerves constricted his throat. He hadn't thought that far ahead. He hadn't prepared himself for a real lie, especially one that would likely raise so many more questions. So many questions whose answers he'd worked hard to keep from Marty and Gus.

"Hey, that's not what's important," Jonah jumped in, taking another half step and subtly putting himself between Cyrus and the rest of the group. "It doesn't matter, yeah? It's over. Nothing we can do about a party that's already done, we'll just hit up the next one."

Cyrus couldn't help the edges of the smile tugging at his lips as he felt the relief flood through his body. 

There was a reason Jonah was one of only a handful of people that Cyrus trusted to know the truth about his family... stuff.

Marty didn't say anything, his jaw still tight as his eyes jumped from Jonah to Cyrus. With a sigh, Gus leaned against the wall of lockers and nodded.

"Cool."

"Oh, and..." swallowing down the lump in his throat, Cyrus dug into the inside pouch of his bag and tucked the baggie of weed—now with a noticeable amount missing—into his palm, "here. Sorry, I know some is missing. I swear, as soon as I have some spare cash I will—"

"Dude," Jonah surreptitiously grabbed the bag from his younger friend, examining it for half a second before tucking it into the side of his backpack without drawing any attention. Instantly, Cyrus felt a pang of relief as he rid himself of the contraband. "It's cool. It was for all of us anyway. I'm not gonna be mad because you smoked some without us."

Regardless of his friend's words, Cyrus looked away to the floor. He didn't want to have to answer the question of when he'd suddenly gained a taste for smoking on his own—he didn't want to have to lie about sharing it with...

Cyrus shook his head, refusing to think about the events of Friday night.

"Honestly, you look like you needed it," Gus shrugged shouldering his bag.

"You know what I needed?" Marty forced out through still gritted teeth. "To get high at a fucking party with senior girls." Without waiting for a response the oldest of the group pushed between Jonah and Cyrus and stomped down the hallway.

"Marty! Shit—don't worry, Cy, he'll get over it," Gus shot Cyrus an apologetic look before chasing after his friend, leaving the younger boy alone with Jonah as the hallway began to slowly empty out.

"Are things okay, man?" The older teen asked quietly, as Cyrus continued to stare at the ground.

"Yeah, just..."

"Your mom didn't... I mean, she didn't try to do anything, did she?"

"No!" Cyrus finally looked up from the floor, meeting his friend's eyes with as much reassurance as he could muster. He didn't want him to be worried, just...

"Good, cause—"

"Yeah, I... I'm sorry, Jo, I just don't really want to talk about it. Right now."

"Yeah, of course," Immediately, the taller teen took a half step back, the serious look on his face transforming seamlessly into one of friendly detachment. "No problem, man."

"Thanks," Cyrus sighed, letting out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding.

"Hey, dude, you know you can..." Jonah paused, then shook his head, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. "If she ever shows up at your apartment, just don't forget, yeah?" Jonah's voice dropped to a whisper, and Cyrus knew exactly what he was about to say—he'd said it at least twenty times since he'd helped Cyrus move out of his mom's house in May—but he let his friend finish, anyway. "I can have my uncle there in his squad car in ten minutes. All you have to do is call."

"Yeah man, I know," Cyrus forced a weak smile onto his face, trying to focus on the relief of having a friend at his back—instead of the fear of the situation Jonah had just described. 

"Alright," the force of Jonah's hand coming down hard on his shoulder—probably harder than strictly necessary—jolted Cyrus out of his thoughts, "see you at lunch. And don't worry about this weekend, yeah? Marty'll forget all about it the next time he sees Buffy. You'll see."

"Thanks," Cyrus grinned, turning as his friend began to walk away in the direction of his first class.

"Seriously," the older teen called over his shoulder, "don't do that thing you do where you obsess about screwing up!"

"Fuck you!" Cyrus called after him, feeling a warmth in his chest as he heard Jonah's laughter filter back through the noise of the hallway.

As the bell rang, and he started walking towards his calculus class, Cyrus tried not to think of the thirty messages from his mom still sitting unread on his phone.

**_Wednesday, 12:10 PM_ **

There were two people that Cyrus had been avoiding all week. He'd mastered taking unnecessarily long paths, ignoring dozens of messages, and dropping into bathroom stalls whenever necessary to avoid Iris and TJ like the plague. He'd mostly learned Iris's schedule over the past two weeks in an attempt to avoid her, but TJ seemed to pop up at completely random intervals. Appearing at the end of a hallway or emerging from a classroom with no apparent pattern that Cyrus could discern. This came to a head when Cyrus, hurrying to the cafeteria in hopes of getting a cheap slice of pizza, found himself caught between Iris heading his way while talking to Maria, and TJ coming down a stairway behind him.

He only had a fraction of second to react—or else risk being caught in the crossfire of way too many unpleasant questions—and without thinking, dove into an unlocked door behind him.

"Sorry, the common room's still not—oh, it's you." Buffy's voiced called out from behind him as Cyrus quickly and quietly shut the door behind him.

'Huh? Oh, no, I..." Cyrus spun around to find Andi and Buffy staring at him, with Libby sweeping one of the corners behind them. The room he found himself in was practically unfamiliar—mostly because it was clean. It was also mostly empty, with just a few tables and chairs left still in the center. Even the lights seemed different, less unforgiving and institutional, a little softer on the eyes. If not for the giant, gaudy 'HOME' mural still on the back wall, he would have thought he'd ended up in a completely different school.

"Woah."

"I know, right?" Andi grinned, swinging her broom around the empty space and almost hitting Buffy in the process. "Pretty sweet, huh? And we only had to give up our lunch three days in a row to make it happen. It's gonna be perfect for—"

"What are you doing here? We're not having a meeting," Buffy spoke over her friend, giving her a mysterious look as Cyrus took a few steps away from the door. 

"Oh, just..." Cyrus looked over his shoulder. No way he was going back out there for at least five minutes. "Just here to... help?" he tried to force a believable grin onto his face.

"Oh thank god," Andi sighed, tossing her broom towards Cyrus without a moment's hesitation. "Now we might actually have things ready by Friday."

"Andi!" Buffy whisper-shouted, giving her that weird look again as she nodded towards Cyrus. "Secrets, Mack. C'mon!"

"Whoops," The girl with the black pixie haircut shrugged and started walking towards the back wall.

Buffy turned around, letting out an exasperated sigh as she shoved one of the last remaining tables against the far wall with a single push. The deafening squeal of the table legs against the floor made Cyrus wince.

"What's... going on Friday?" Cyrus asked, not really wanting to get dragged into sweeping the floor but also not wanting to get kicked out. "Have I stumbled onto something, here?"

"No!" Buffy was still facing the wall, but her voice sounded like she was near the end of her rope. "Nothing to see here, Goodman."

"Is there anything I can do to, uh... help? With this nothing?" Cyrus walked over, kicking at the broom with every step. He was down to waste his lunch period—and avoid the chance of running into Iris or TJ—as long as it didn't mean cleaning. Cyrus had developed a distaste for cleaning since escaping his mother.

"Could you help me and Libby with this table?" Andi asked, apparently ignoring Buffy's growing frustration. "We need to clear out enough space for people to dance—"

"Seriously, Andi? Are you trying to ruin everything!" Buffy spun around, fire in her eyes. Cyrus felt his muscles tense immediately, but Andi seemed unbothered.

"It's just Cyrus," The smaller girl shrugged. "He's practically part of the gang,"

"He always comes to the meetings," Libby signed, sending a kind smile towards the confused boy.

It took a few seconds for things to click inside his—admittedly, distracted—mind. But even in his less-than-perfect mental state, Cyrus eventually recalled the number one request on all of the Common Room questionnaires from the previous week.

"No..." It came out as more of a whisper than anything else.

"Fuck," Buffy muttered.

"You're throwing a party?" Cyrus asked, incredulous. "In the school?"

"Yup!" Andi squealed, apparently very excited by the idea.

"Shut it, Mack. Goodman, you can't tell anyone." Buffy's voice was full of unspoken threats, even as her face looked incredibly anxious.

"Are you trying to get expelled!" Cyrus squeaked, still frozen in place. "Or are you hoping to get shot by a security guard instead?"

"Oh, calm down," Andi dismissed.

"We figured it out," Libby signed, looking mischevious as she leaned against the table they were supposed to be moving.

"You figured out how to be an idiot? Because there are simpler ways to do it! Oh my god. Oh, shit! They're going to know I was involved with this. I'm going to be kicked out too! Why did you have to—"

Cyrus didn't know when Buffy made her way across the room, but the sudden feeling of her powerful hand holding his mouth closed was like a bucket of ice water being splashed over his face. He froze, eyes jumping around the room as he stared at an exasperated Buffy, concerned Andi, and confused Libby. His heart was still racing, pumping blood and adrenaline through his body. The silence was starting to last way too long.

Slowly, carefully, Buffy pulled her hand away, allowing the younger teen to pull in a shaky breath.

His mom's voice echoed in his head. Soft, calm, full of judgment. _'You're such a good boy, Cyrus. I worry about the effect these friends of yours are having. They're not like you, my beautiful son. Drugs, sex, parties, they'll just pull you away from me. They'll only get in the way of our plan.'_

"No one is going to get kicked out," Buffy said, slowly. Concern filling her eyes as she looked over the younger teen.

"My mom knows one of the rent-a-cops who's watching the school on Friday. They went to high school together," Andi explained. Cyrus could still feel his heart racing, could feel his throat constricting as he struggled to block out more of his mom's words by focusing on what the class rep was saying. "He said the cleaning staff leaves by 6 every Friday. And that for $100, he would keep his partner away from the party—as long as we didn't make too much noise."

"Your... mom?" Cyrus choked out.

"Yeah," Andi shrugged. "Actually, it was mostly her idea. She has it out for Jefferson, or something—I think she's hoping we'll cause some serious property damage."

"Which we won't!" Buffy interjected forcefully.

"And the noise?" Cyrus asked, shaking his head. His body was starting to calm down—mentally, he repeated the mantra he'd developed after his first panic attack at the beginning of the summer. _'She's not here. She can't control you. You're free. She's not here. She can't control you...'_ "How, uh... how are you planning on keeping a party of teenagers quiet?"

"What's so bad about a quiet party?" Libby signed, rolling her eyes.

"You know, Andi and Libby I can sort of understand but I'm struggling to see why you're going along with this." Cyrus directed at Buffy.

"Metcalf pissed me off this week," Buffy explained as if that was all the reason she needed. "Anyway, we're doing a headphone party, so: no sound. We've got a playlist on Spotify, or people can listen to their own trashy music or whatever. But all on people's headphones." She dug out a pair of AirPods, as if Cyrus might have been confused by that part of the idea. "These doors are surprisingly thick. As long as no one screams at the top of their lungs it'll be fine."

"Oh, um..." This was bad. Cyrus knew this was bad. He could imagine the Monday morning assembly announcing their immediate expulsions already. His instincts were screaming at him to run from the room. "Sounds... fun?"

"As long as I can get everything organized, it will be." Buffy gestured to the mostly cleaned room. "Unfortunately for you, now that you know, I'm going to have to kill you."

"Oh, come on, Buff. Chill. Cyrus isn't a snitch," Andi tossed a rolled up piece of paper, laughing when it embedded itself in Buffy's hair.

"Yup! Not a snitch! Definitely no need to maim-and-or-murder." He tried to force a big smile onto his face, but it was difficult. This was exactly the kind of thing his mom had drilled into his head that he needed to avoid. Potentially future-destroying bullshit that only teenagers could come up with. It was exactly the kind of thing he would have never even considered attending a year ago.

_'She's not here. She can't control you. You're free.'_

"Just... don't fuck this up for us, Goodman." Buffy sighed, dropping her menacing glare as she turned back to the other girls.

"But, seriously. Could you help us with this table?" Andi asked, a smirk on her lips as she pointed to the heavy looking piece of furniture behind her.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry. Yeah."

Cyrus wasn't exactly what you would call 'strong' but with the three of them—Buffy directing them as they went—the space was quickly cleared out with every table and chair pushed against the wall or stacked up in the corner. Rubbing at his shoulder, Cyrus took stock of the space they had and was surprised to realize just how big the room was. Almost as big as two classrooms, they could easily fit... sixty dancing kids? Maybe more?

"So, Libby," Andi caught her friend's attention as they rested against one of the tables. In the far corner, Buffy was trying to tape paper over the one window. "Is your new guy Walker gonna show up to this?"

"He should," Libby signed, pursing her lips. "If he doesn't I'll just find some cute girl to dance with."

"Hell yeah," Andi grinned. "Don't let a man keep you down."

"We're not even really dating," Libby shrugged. "I haven't even told him I'm bisexual yet."

"Is that... a thing you're supposed to do?" Cyrus asked, butting into the conversation with fake disinterest.

"No. You don't have to," Libby raised an eyebrow, and Cyrus felt heat pooling in his cheeks. Unfortunately, he couldn't hide the blush by looking away because he needed to be able to see Libby's hands. So he just decided to pretend it wasn't happening. "But I like to do it early on. Then I can fix any confusion they might have about the where bisexuals sit on the scale of sexuality before they say something stupid."

"The scale? Of sexuality? Isn't it just, like... I dunno, option 1, 2, or 3." Cyrus shrugged, looking to Andi just in time to catch her rolling her eyes.

"The Kinsey scale? I'm surprised she hasn't lectured the whole school on this by now," Andi chuckled, tucking her legs up underneath her.

"It's more than just gay, straight, and bi," Libby shook her head. "On one end of the scale you have completely heterosexual, on the other end you have completely homosexual, but those are a lot rarer than people think. Most people are somewhere in between. I just happen to be right in the middle." Libby winked, smiling at Cyrus who suddenly felt very... exposed. "Most people just don't realize it. Or they only realize it when they're drunk."

"That was one time!" Andi shouted, struggling to hold back a smile as she tried to appear outraged. "And that is one of many reasons that I'm never touching tequila again."

As Cyrus watched the two girls banter back and forth, he could feel the idea of the Kinsey scale hooking into his mind. A sliding scale, not just black and white. And anyone could be anywhere—he could be anywhere—between 0 and 100.

It was so obvious.

It was so easy.

"It must be so much easier to be bi," Cyrus couldn't hold off the slight grin pulling at his lips. "You can kiss a girl, or hook up with her. Then at the end of the day, you can choose a guy and no one will bat an eye. Everyone will just think you're straight."

"Uh..." Andi's eyes bounced from Libby to Cyrus.

"Who says I want people to think I'm straight?" Libby looked frustrated and Cyrus immediately felt his grin fall from his face. "Besides, it doesn't work that way. If I like a guy, that's who I like. If I like a girl, that's who I like. And I'm going to date who I like, not who will make me look straight. I don't choose who I love. Do you?"

"I—um..." Cyrus could feel his heart sinking as Andi and Libby gave him confused glares. With a quiet voice and weak hand motion, he replied, "No."

"Well, that's it." Libby shrugged, hopping off the table and grabbing a broom. Going off the look Andi gave him and he caught her eye, Cyrus decided that he needed to shut up.

So he did.

**_Wednesday, 9:05 PM_ **

_I am a..._

Man.

_My age is..._

Sixteen.

_For each question, please select the answers in each column which best represent you: for experiences in the past, for current and recent experiences, and for your ideal future. For best results, answer honestly and not with any specific result in mind. Disclaimer: This test does not represent a binding evaluation for legal or medical purposes, nor does it constitute any psychological treatment or advice. The University of..._

Cyrus skipped over the next paragraph of legal jargon before finding himself at a grid of questions. What was supposed to be a quick research journey to learn more about this... Kinsey scale—purely so that he could save face the next time it came up with the girls—had somehow landed him here. Incognito mode activated, on this quiz titled 'What's your Kinsey score?' Which—not that Cyrus was curious, but...

_I have been physically attracted to..._

_Members of the other sex only_  
_Members of the other sex mostly_  
_Members of the other sex occasionally_  
_Both sexes equally_  
_Members of the same sex occasionally_  
_Members of the same sex mostly_  
_Members of the same sex only_

A quick scan of the page showed that those seven options were the possible answers for each of the three columns, as well as each of the four other questions. Cyrus swallowed around the lump in his throat. This would be easy.

_In the past?_

Well, that is to say, it would be easy if his past wasn't so... fucked up. There wasn't exactly a lot of time to think about who he was attracted to with his mom breathing down his neck, or shoving pills down his throat. There hadn't really been anyone, except—

But Jonah didn't count, so...

Members of the other sex only.

_Currently?_

Another question that was more complicated than it should have been. Because, what? Did he have to consider how he'd acted when he was drunk? High? When his mental state was not... representative of who he really was. When he was clearly wrong about everything anyway, because TJ obviously had a girlfriend and he had definitely been reading too much their 'connection,' and that was probably just because of the altered mental state anyway, so really—

Members of the other sex only.

Drunk Cyrus didn't count.

_Ideally in the future?_

At least that one was easy. Sure, imagining dating a girl—Iris's face kept shoving itself into his mind—didn't exactly get him excited. But it was what he wanted. And that's what the question was asking, wasn't it?

Members of the other sex only.

_I have had sexual activity with..._

Well that's easy. He had only ever kissed, and he had only every kissed girls. So... duh.

The question didn't ask if he'd actually felt something during that activity.

Members of the other sex only.

Members of the other sex only.

Members of the other sex only.

_I prefer social interactions with..._

_I feel romantic bonds with..._

_I identify as someone who prefers..._

Cyrus could feel the pit in his stomach growing with every click of the mouse. His hands were fidgeting, his free fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt as he filled out the entire grid with 'Members of the other sex only.' Coming up with a reason each time that it was correct, the truth. Definitely not a lie. But the pit kept growing, and his heart kept beating faster, more erratically, and he could feel it in his throat, feel the anger and the frustration building as he clicked and clicked and...

Submit.

He was holding his breath, he could feel the burning in his lungs as the page loaded.

It should have been a relief when he saw in big bold letters 'You are a heterosexual.'

But it wasn't. 

Even as he read the short description of what his numerical score meant, he could feel the dread pooling in his chest—it didn't matter that he got the result he wanted. It didn't matter what the test said. The page could report with 100% confidence that Cyrus would never feel attraction to a man, and it wouldn't matter in the slightest. Because Cyrus wasn't an idiot.

He knew he was lying.

Lying to the test, lying to his friends.

Lying to himself.

It didn't take a genius to know that. All he had to do was hold the images of Iris and TJ in his mind. The cute, dorky girl with shared interests, smarts, and an actual interest in him. The mysterious artist boy who had horrible taste in music and drew himself as a raccoon. Cyrus was only head over heels for one of them.

And it wasn't Iris.

He could feel the dread, the frustration fighting its way up his throat, threatening to become tears as he stared at the results page of that stupid, useless quiz. He was already the kid with the fucked up family, the kid who was an outcast for years, only had one friend until recently and never far from his mom's supervision. He was already estranged from his family. He already had all that to deal with.

He didn't want to add 'gay' to the list.

It wasn't fair.

He didn't want to—he shouldn't have to deal with that too.

_How to hide that you're gay?_

The first few search results were way too happy. Way too emotional, telling him not to hide who he was. It was bullshit.

Five results down, he finally found answers. And it made so much sense—there were other guys out there. Other people like him who knew it wasn't fair. Who knew it was better to not deal with it at all.

_Talk about girls with your friends. All the time. Focus on something you do or don't find physically attractive about them and stick with that._

_The best way to hide is to get a girlfriend, the hotter the better. Just come up with a reason why you don't want to have sex. And if she gets too pushy, dump her and find another girl. Then people will think you're a fuckboy and no one will wonder about the truth._

_Don't tell anyone. All it takes is one asshole, or one idiot, and then everyone will know, which is a disaster. If people start to gossip about you, you're screwed._

Fuck. Cyrus leaned back, resting his head against the wall of his bedroom trying not to feel sick as the words sat like bricks in his mind. It sounded absolutely horrible. Evil, almost. He would have to lie—definitely not his specialty—and completely change who he was. Fuck, he'd have to be more like Marty than himself.

He wiped at the tear that escaped down his cheek and slammed his laptop shut.

Fuck.

**_Thursday, 4:17 PM_ **

"Bro, this is... torture." Marty leaned back against the empty bleachers, hand dragging down his face.

"The best kind of torture," Jonah elbowed his friend, not taking his eyes off the cheerleaders helping each other stretch on the field below. "At least a thousand times better than dealing with Mrs. Sayer's English essay tonight."

Cyrus took a second to take in the image of his friends: sprawled out on the metal bleachers, bags slung to the side, drooling over their female classmates dressed in skimpy booty shorts. This was what he was supposed to emulate. Even Jonah—who was usually above this kind of bullshit—was making a fool of himself as a redhead he seemed to like bent over to touch her toes. They all looked like idiots. Clearly, this was the perfect opportunity to bring out new-and-improved Straight Cyrus.

If only it didn't make him feel so gross.

"Guys, calm down. They're not even that hot."

That got a response. Marty was still too distracted to look away, but both Gus and Jonah snapped their heads to the side to give Cyrus an incredulous look. 

"I, uh... I mean. Yeah. She—she's okay," Cyrus pointed towards a large group of cheerleaders, hoping his friends wouldn't notice that he wasn't pointing at anyone in particular. "Her, um, boobs are... huge."

"You feelin' okay, Cy?" Jonah asked as Gus shook his head in disbelief. 

"Yeah! Just... you know..."

"Okay..."

"Oh shit, look at Sarah," Gus grabbed Jonah's attention slapping at his chest with all the excitement of a child seeing Mickey Mouse at Disney Land. Cyrus scanned the field, eventually landing on the familiar face of a girl doing the splits off to one side.

"You know," Gus continued, "her and I almost had a thing last year."

"You wish," Marty smirked, not taking his eyes off the field. 

"She's not that great," Cyrus tried to give off a tone on nonchalance. "I wouldn't sleep with her."

Well, that got everyone's attention. Even Marty tore his eyes away from Rebecca Collins practicing some dance moves in order to stare at his younger, usually much less opinionated, friend.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Gus asked, disbelief and laughter behind his words.

"Even Marty's doesn't say shit like that," Jonah shook his head, clapping their oldest friend on the back.

"Yeah! Hashtag Me Too!" Marty tapped at his chest with a closed fist. "A woman's value is not determined by my desire to sleep with her."

"Yeah because you want to sleep with all of them," Gus joked, reaching down to ruffle Marty's hair.

Cyrus could feel the anxiety building in his chest. He hated this. It was uncomfortable and felt... wrong. And the idea that it might become easier over time terrified him. But it was his only choice.

"Uh... gay," Cyrus scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the field.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Gus reached over and slapped the back of Cyrus's head, earning an annoyed glare. "Who the fuck says that anymore."

"Shit, I haven't called something gay since middle school," Marty said. "Is that cool again? I was sorta sad when I had to give that up."

"No, you asshole," Jonah glared at the older teen, then turned to Cyrus with confusion and concern lining his face. "No one says that. Don't say that shit."

"Yeah, the only people who say shit like that are those Nazi fuckers. And repressed homos," Gus added.

"In your dreams," Cyrus shot back, feeling the pit in his stomach double in size. His mind was a frenzy of anxiety and swearing as his friends continued to give him suspicious looks. How had he fucked it up so royally in a single conversation?

"Speaking of dreams, did I tell you guys about my dream with Buffy last night?" Marty asked, apparently not as concerned as the rest of the group by his younger friend's weirdness.

Thankful for the distraction, Cyrus decided to push the conversation in that direction. "Uh, no... Do we want to know?"

"Well let's just say she had a whip, and—"

"Whoa!" All three of the other boys cried out at once, Gus holding his hands up as if that could somehow stop the words from reaching his ears.

"I don't want to know about your kinky fantasies, man!" 

As his friends turned to rag on Marty, Cyrus let his eyes wander. Past the field, down to the walkway that went between the school and the parking lot. It wasn't too crowded—by that point most of the rush of students had already left for the day but there were still a handful of students making their way to their cars. Which made it really easy to pick out the two senior girls walking together down the center of the path. 

If Cyrus ran, he could reach Iris before she got too far away. And maybe...

If talking to his friends like a straight guy didn't work, maybe talking to a girl like one would.

"I'll be right back."

Before his friends even realized what he was doing, Cyrus was already halfway gone. He wasn't much of a runner, but he'd have to be especially pathetic to not reach Iris before she got into a car. He just hoped he wouldn't be too out of breath after just a few seconds of sprinting.

"Iris! Iris wait!" He saw the girl with dark brown hair turn around at the sound of her name. The second she seemed to recognize who was calling for her, he watched her eyes fill with anger in the split second before she turned around and started walking faster.

"Wait, Iris, please. I need your help," Even at her increased walking speed, Cyrus was able to grab the older girl's wrist, getting her to pause just long enough to turn to face him. "I need your help," he repeated, trying to catch his breath.

"You need my help? Seriously? I mean, clearly, you need someone's help, because you're out of your mind if you think I want to talk to you right now."

"I know. I know! I'm sorry. I just..." Iris sighed, and Cyrus swallowed down his labored breathing in an attempt to not look ridiculous. "I know I don't have some great excuse or anything. But please."

Iris crossed her arms over her chest, frustration and impatience filling her every movement as she rolled her eyes. But she didn't turn away. "Well, here you go. What do you need."

"It's just, uh..." He hadn't had the time to figure out exactly what he was going to say. After the previous night he'd decided that getting together with Iris would be the best option—she liked him, she was nice and cute and maybe, just maybe, with enough time he would learn to like her—but he hadn't figured out how. But flattery, the over emotional stuff that normal-Cyrus would avoid, seemed like a good place to start. "There's this girl. This senior girl. And she's gorgeous and sweet and just as nerdy as me. And we made out at a party but got broken up by the cops and... every time we hung out I thought it was just a... I don't know, a fling. But that's not," Cyrus swallowed down the anxiety rising in his chest with each word, "what my heart wanted."

He could see Iris's eyes softening. Part of him felt guilty, but a much louder part of his brain was busy justifying his words. After all, Iris was the one that wanted to be with him. Really, he was giving her what she wanted. And it wasn't like a high school relationship would be forever. When it inevitably failed... so what?

"Cyrus..."

"I realized I wanted more, and that... that freaked me out!" Cyrus continued to lie, hoping that Iris would excuse the tight, cracking voice as nerves instead of deceit. "Because I've never—this is the first time I've felt like that. So I fucked up, and hid away from your messages, and I stood you up this weekend and... I'm sorry, Iris. I understand why you're mad at me, but I didn't know what to do with myself. And I," he coughed, voice to sound normal, "I really hope one day you can forgive me. Because I really like you, Iris. I do."

Lie. Lie, Lie, Lie.

He hated it but it was his only option.

Finally, Iris dropped her hands from her chest, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"That was really sappy, Goodman." Her voice was quiet as she reached out for one of Cyrus's hands, lacing their fingers together. "Really damn sappy."

"I know. I uh... I guess I can't help myself around you. But really, Iris. Just tell me what to do to get you to forgive me. I'll do anything." At least the desperation in his voice was honest.

"Anything?"

Cyrus didn't want to think about what she might mean by that tone of voice. So he just nodded.

The smile that blossomed on Iris's face was beautiful. It was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. And Cyrus felt absolutely nothing.

Nothing but more dread.

He reacted automatically as Iris leaned forward pressing a soft, joyful kiss on his lips—he lifted a hand to cradle the back of her head and increased the pressure from his lips just a little. It was a nice kiss. It was exactly what Cyrus had been hoping for.

It did nothing to cover up the dread growing even stronger in his chest.

"I have to get going," Iris whispered, grinning as she leaned back from their embrace. "Call me tonight?"

"Oh, uh... yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

A small, shy wave was her only response as she made her way to her friend's car. And then, satisfied—if not happy—with his results, Cyrus made his way back to his friends.

His friends... who were all staring straight at him.

"Holy shit."

"What... was that."

"What the hell did you say to her? How did you do that?" Marty climbed over the bleachers making his way to the younger teen before either of their other friends, a confused and desperate look on his face. 

"Just... the truth?" Cyrus shrugged, glancing over at Jonah who was looking at him with this almost-proud smile. "I just apologized, and told her how I felt—oh, and I wasn't an asshole. If you, uh... If you want, I can teach you how to do that, Marty."

"Fuck you, Goodman!" Marty's voice betrayed how excited he was for the younger teen, cutting off any response from his friend by pulling him into a bearhug that squeezed the air out of his lungs. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Congrats, Cy," Jonah's voice filtered over Marty's deeper, booming one.

"Thanks, man. I guess it's just... all in the determination, the—"

"Hello!" 

Whatever confidence had been growing in Cyrus in the few short moments since fixing things with Iris completely drained away as he heard TJ's voice behind him. It took all his self-control not to spin around, not to start asking questions, throwing accusations. Instead, he turned slowly, trying to deny the twisting of his heart as TJ looked down at him with those kind eyes and sheepish smile as he greeted his friends with a few more 'Hi's.

"Uh... hi," Cyrus swallowed down a crack in his voice, focusing on ignoring TJ's smile, his eyes, his...

All he had to do was remember the girl, the kiss, the... the truth. It wasn't so hard to steel himself once he remembered that.

"Hey, I think you dropped this, the other day," TJ reached behind him to pull something out of his bag, that wide smile growing on his face as he pulled out the pen case Cyrus had been missing all week. "Thought you might need it. Sorry, I didn't get it to you earlier, but... I sorta suck." The full force of that crinkly-eyed smile almost made Cyrus want to throw everything to the wind. Almost made him want to return the smile. Almost made him feel the connection again.

But he stood strong.

"Oh. Yeah. You uh..." He glanced over his shoulder and saw his friends looking between him and TJ. "You found it in the Common Room. Thanks. Yeah, I've been looking for this. Must've fallen out of my bag there earlier this week."

TJ's smile dropped, just for a second, just long enough for Cyrus to wish it was still shining in his direction, and then it was back. "Right... in the common room. Anyway, um... I gotta get going. See you later, bro."

"Uh, yeah. Thanks... bro," Cyrus nodded. Without responding, TJ turned back and made his way towards the school exit.

"Who was that?" Jonah asked, nothing but happy curiosity in his voice. Still, the question sent a spike of anxiety in Cyrus's gut. "He seemed nice."

"He's nobody," Cyrus responded, tearing his eyes away from the blond teen's retreating back.

"What's that mean? Nobody." Jonah gave the other boy another questioning look. So many fucking questions, Cyrus just wanted him to accept things at face value for once.

"He's just new. It's whatever. I helped him out one day and now he's—I don't know—thinks we're friends or something."

"Seems like a normal thing for a new kid to do," Gus shrugged. "Making friends has gotta suck."

"Anyway... Hey, are you still taking me home today?" Cyrus asked, changing the subject.

"Uh... yeah, man. We can head out whenever." Jonah responded, shaking off his unasked questions and digging into his pocket for his phone. "Just give me, like, five minutes to make sure I have everything."

"Sweet, cause I actually need to get home to study soon."

"Yeah no problem, I can... Wait. Hold up, guys. Did you guys see this?" 

"See what?" Marty asked, leaning over Jonah's shoulder to get a look at his phone.

"This is a unique and completely confidential invitation to the greatest party of your life..." Jonah read off his screen. At the same time, Cyrus and Gus pulled open their phones and found the same invite notification on their Facebook apps. "Dress Theme: Infiltration; Password: Amazeballs... what is this, 2007? Bring your phone and headphones and meet at... the entry gate to Jefferson high at 9 PM Friday? Wait seriously?"

"Oh my god, they're actually doing it," Cyrus muttered.

"Hell. Fucking. Yes! I have the perfect costume." Marty cheered, ignoring the fact that they were still on school grounds.

"Wait, Cy, do you know about this? Are we actually partying after hours at the school?" Jonah asked, sounding unreasonably excited.

"I um... I guess they are." Cyrus honestly couldn't believe this was actually happening. This was going to be... a disaster.

"Oh fuck yeah." Jonah immediately indicated on the invite that he'd be attending, before reaching over and grabbing Cyrus's and Gus's phones to do the same for them. "Hell fucking yes. Are you ready for this, guys? This is going to be amazing."

"Jonah, don't you think we should just—"

"No. No to whatever you were about to say," Jonah grinned. "We're doing this. We cannot not do this. I will pick you up from your place on Friday, it will be absolutely amazing, and then we can crash at my house after." With way too much energy, Jonah began literally bouncing down the bleachers as he grinned stupidly at his phone.

Cyrus let out a sigh. There was just no arguing with his best friend when he got like this.

"Oh, fuck yes. This is a fucking dream come true."

**_Friday, 9:00 PM_ **

"What the fuck are you supposed to be, man?" Jonah whispered as he and Cyrus pushed through the crowd to get next to Marty and Gus. Cyrus and Jonah were both dressed in all black—though Jonah's jacket was black leather while Cyrus was just in a borrowed black hoodie—with green and black face paint on their cheeks. Gus was dressed in a full tuxedo, clearly trying to pull off a James Bond air. But Marty... Marty's entire body was hidden under a suit of what looked like moss and dirty scraps of cloth. It covered every inch of him, from head to toe.

Honestly, In Cyrus's opinion, it was an improvement.

"It's my old man's ghillie suit. I've been waiting for an excuse to pull this out for months!" Marty held his arms out, even in the full darkness Cyrus could see strings and moss dangling from every part of him.

"Alright, well... don't, like, suffocate or something," Cyrus shook his head.

He didn't want to be there. He really didn't. He was strongly considering just turning around and running away. But he could feel Jonah's behind him, feel how excited his friend was, how pumped they all were to do this. The idea terrified him, but after the previous weekend... he really couldn't justify bailing, no matter how much he wanted to.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Gus whispered into Cyrus's ear. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Gus was talking about his gaudily dressed roommate. Reed flashed the two of them a smile, tugging his black glittery jacket closer around his chest.

"He uh... he tagged along," Cyrus shrugged. In truth, Reed would only agree to let Cyrus borrow the black hoodie and pants—Cyrus didn't own any black clothes because his mother had forbidden it—if they told him what was going on. The face paint had also been Reed's idea. And after he'd been so helpful... it was really hard to tell him no.

"Okay, guys!" Buffy's voice rose above the murmur of the crowd, though still not much louder than normal speaking level. For a group of more than fifty teens, they were being remarkably quiet. "If we do this right, we are gonna have a kickass—secret!—party in the school."

"Woo!" Marty led the cheer as a chorus of voices started to yell in excitement. Within seconds there were at least a dozen voices trying to cheer over each other.

"I said secret! Fuck, come on guys." Buffy shut the group up before they could get way too loud. "Let's try not to go too crazy. Please. And for the love of god, no screaming!"

The crowd broke out into a much more muted whisper-cheer, which seemed to satisfy Buffy's demands. 

"Alright," Andi spoke up, lifting her plastic tiger mask to the top of her head. "We're having the party in the common room. The music is whatever the hell you want to listen to on your headphones, but we've got a kick-ass playlist. All you have to do is keep it quiet, dance your ass off, and—oh shit. Don't open the door to the common room without checking with us first. Oh, and no one gets in without the password."

"Uh, I think we all know the password," Jonah's voice piped up over a quiet murmur of cheers from the crowd. "Also, the password sucks. Can we get a new one?"

"No," Andi glared at her ex, which Jonah met fearlessly with a ridiculous smirk. "Just... Fuck. Alright. Just—Everyone stay quiet, alright. Not a sound on the way to the common room. And once you're there, no one leaves until we all do. Okay? We don't need anyone wandering around the school and screwing us all over. So if you're scared and you think you're gonna freak out, go home now."

"Seriously, no snitches," Buffy added. "I will literally leave you needing stitches if I get called into Metcalf's office about this." To emphasize her point, Buffy angrily pointed at random people within the crowd. Cyrus took the opportunity to take a quick look around to see exactly what kind of people were stupid enough to go through with this. He couldn't see everyone from the front, but the group appeared to be split evenly between seniors and juniors—and Reed. Outside of his friend group and the girls who'd planned it, he wasn't especially close with any of them but that wasn't a huge surprise. Then a girl in a black jumpsuit lifted up her cat mask and Cyrus realized that it was Iris smiling back at him.

Immediately, he felt his stomach drop. He was already incredibly anxious about this night, pulled into this stupid plan by friends and his still-new, still-stupid spirit of teenage rebellion. And now it seemed he'd have to be on boyfriend duty as well.

They hadn't really put a word on it, but... 'boyfriend' was supposed to be what he wanted, right?

"Alright, Andi?" Buffy turned to her friend who nodded and pulled out her phone. "While our inside man opens the gate, everyone... ready?"

A quiet cheer rippled through the crowd.

"Masks on. Hoods up," Buffy instructed. Cyrus heard a scoff from the swamp monster that was Marty as he pulled his hood over his head. "Remember. Quiet!"

"Amazeballs," Jonah started chanting in a whisper beside him. "Amazeballs, amazeballs, amazeballs!" Within a few seconds, the cheer had spread throughout the whole crowd, quiet at first but slowly growing until Cyrus began to fear they would draw attention. Just when it seemed like someone was about to start actually yelling, a loud buzz signaled the gate unlocking, and a light they hadn't even realized was on in the guard station went out.

"Let's go!"

**_Friday, 9:36 PM_ **

The whole thing was an incredibly surreal experience. One minute, you were running quietly through a school, a cloud of black—plus one swamp monster—moving silently down laminated hallways under fluorescent lights. And then you open a door and suddenly you're in a nightclub. Blacklights adorned each corner, making the colorful paper covering the walls and windows fluoresce in pinks and oranges and greens. A strobe light, a bowl of punch, and way too many glowsticks gave an incredible impression of a rave—or at least what Cyrus assumed a rave was. With headphones in, music pounding in your ears, you would be forgiven for forgetting you weren't in an actual club.

Take the headphones out, and you got the absolutely hilarious experience of watching a bunch of teenagers in a black-lit room dancing in complete silence.

But as enjoyable as that was, Cyrus was surprised to find that he had a lot more fun when he slipped his headphones in, started the playlist, and joined his friends in dancing like an idiot. Maybe it was just the distraction, keeping him from thinking about how they were all surely about to be expelled. Maybe it just that he was finally getting an outlet for the nervous energy he'd been dealing with all week. A chance to literally dance away the dread pooling in his chest. Or maybe it was just the bottle of vodka someone had surely poured into the punch. Whatever the cause, as he bounced to the song blaring in his ears, feeling more at ease than he had in days, Cyrus had a huge smile plastered on his face.

Believe it or not, he didn't want this to end.

It was astonishing, but... whatever this party was supposed to be, it was definitely a success. Everyone was laughing, smiling, and dancing—though definitely not all to the same song. Jonah and Gus were back to back, dancing with two groups of girls—Jonah was much smoother on his feet, but Gus wasn't making too much of a fool of himself—Libby was dancing with a tall senior boy Cyrus didn't know. Even Buffy seemed to have chilled out—she spent the first ten minutes of the party yanking vape pens out of people's mouths and trying to explain that a fire alarm going off would screw them all—and was dancing with Andi. Marty was... somewhere. He was surprisingly tough to keep track of in that swamp monster suit, but Cyrus had no doubt he was probably watching Buffy swing around the floor with Andi.

Everyone was having a good time.

As his eyes scanned the room, they eventually landed on Iris, who seemed to be making his way towards him with a mysterious smile on her face. Her cat mask was propped on the top of her head, and as she approached she pulled one of her earbuds out, staring Cyrus straight in the eye as she mouthed... something.

"Sorry, what was that?" Cyrus asked, slipping out one bud of his own so that her voice wasn't completely drowned out by the music.

"Wanna grab a drink?" Iris repeated, motioning to the table filled with cups on the other wall.

"Oh, uh..." Cyrus looked around, watching everyone else dancing off-beat to the song still playing in his ear. He didn't really have a reason to say no. "Sure!"

"This is so cool, right," Iris bubbled as she lead the way through the crowd of dancers, unbothered by the occasional shove. "I honestly thought this would be a disaster, I'm really so impressed."

"Yeah, I uh... I never would have thought of a headphone party," Cyrus responded as he turned down the music on his phone. He didn't want it all the way off, but having it blasting in one ear and not the other was throwing him off balance.

"What are you listening to?" Iris asked, sweeping down upon the drink table to grab the two of them some of the last cups of punch. Cyrus could smell the alcohol as he brought it up to his face. Just the scent was strong enough to make him wince.

"Just the playlist the girls put together," Cyrus shrugged. He still hadn't gotten around to building up much of his own taste in music. "Seems like that's what most people are dancing to, anyway."

"True, it's not bad, though there's a bit too much Maroon 5 for my taste," Iris giggled as she took a sip of her punch. "I'll have to talk to Andi about her music tastes."

"Got something better in mind?" Cyrus asked, trying to look ridiculous as he took a swig of the incredibly strong drink.

"I don't know if it fits with the party," Iris shrugged, "but I wouldn't mind some classic rock. Something cool. What about you? You listening to anything good lately?"

"Uh..." He had learned from his friends that this wasn't the type of question he was supposed to respond to with 'not really.' Also, apparently talking about classical music was a big no-no. Saying he listened to whatever was on the radio sounded lame, but...

As he scanned the gyrating crowd of dancers, looking for an answer to what should have been a very simple question, Cyrus caught sight of one of the party-goers pulling off his hood and black surgical mask, revealing some wildly styled blond hair and a pair of striking eyes. Immediately, he felt his heart lurch in his chest, heard that little voice in his head scream how amazing the older teen looked. He was still stalling for an answer, but he couldn't look away, even as TJ wrapped his arms around a girl dressed in light gray with dark black squares painted under her eyes. Even as he pulled her onto the floor to dance with her.

"Trap music. I, uh..." Cyrus shook himself back to the conversation, trying not to make it too obvious as he watched TJ out of the corner of his eye. "Like, trap and dubstep? A friend... yeah, a friend turned me onto it recently."

"I'll admit, I wasn't expecting that," Iris grinned, leaning slightly until she was resting against Cyrus's chest. "You're just full of surprises."

"Yeah, I surprise myself sometimes." Hesitantly, Cyrus wrapped his arm around her waist, which seemed to be the right thing to do as she leaned back hummed happily by his ear.

"Do you want to dance?" Iris whispered, reaching down to turn up the music on Cyrus's phone. 

"I can't see why not," Cyrus forced a grin onto his face, following behind as Iris dragged him onto the dancefloor. As much as he'd enjoyed the dancing with his friends and on his own he felt a growing sense of dread at the idea of dancing with Iris. What if it became obvious as they were dancing that he just wasn't that into her? Dancing was supposed to be the language of love, right? What if she noticed how uncomfortable he looked, how obvious it was that he wanted to be somewhere else, and started asking questions?

Cyrus swallowed down the nerves before the could bubble up into something embarrassing. He knew better than to let himself think like that. He was going to dance with Iris, and even if he sucked, there would be no question that she was the person he wanted to dance with. He was going to do that because he had no other choice. He just needed to be confident.

Before the two of them could slip their earbuds back into their ears, Cyrus felt a tap on his shoulder and heard a familiar laugh. And just like that, his confidence disappeared.

"Hey, dude," TJ grinned, his arm thrown around the girl he had been dancing with earlier. It was dim, but Cyrus was pretty sure it was the same girl he'd seen TJ kiss the week before. The twisting in his stomach seemed to confirm that suspicion.

Unsure of what to say, or if he even wanted to respond, Cyrus stayed quiet, just nodding in response. But Iris appeared to have no such qualms. "Hey TJ! Long time no see!"

"Oh yeah, bus stop girl," TJ grinned, looking the two of them over with soft eyes. In a flash decision, Cyrus decided to pull Iris even closer, mirroring the position TJ was taking with the other girl.

"Iris," the brunette corrected, turning to face the older girl beside TJ. "And you are?"

"Kira," The lanky girl smiled—a very clinical smile, in Cyrus's opinion—and offered a hand out in greeting. As Iris accepted the handshake, all three of them turned towards Cyrus expectantly. He had yet to say a word, but Cyrus knew he should introduce himself. He should shake Kira's hand ask them what they thought of the party and make pleasant small talk. That was the polite thing to do.

But it took 100% of his focus not to glare Kira down as TJ pulled the tall girl even closer.

"Well, see you around," TJ eventually broke the awkward silence, still grinning as someone bumped into him from behind. With a nod, he and Kira pushed their way back through the crowd until the found an empty space to inhabit, quickly turning to embrace each other as they slipped their headphones back in. 

"C'mon," Iris pulled Cyrus a few more feet, grabbing his loose headphone and slipping it into his ear. And as her mouth formed the words 'let's dance,' Cyrus pushed down the ball of anxiety and anger in his stomach and decided to do just that.

He wasn't a good dancer, Cyrus knew that, but Iris didn't seem to mind. She laughed happily as he accidentally tripped over his own shoes, and only gave him a short glare as he stepped on her feet. It was fun, the music was good, and Iris really seemed to be enjoying herself.

But Cyrus couldn't stop looking over at TJ and Kira.

They moved together so flawlessly, it was clear that this was not the first time they had danced. It was clear this was not their first date. The way their bodies bounced and twisted and swayed to some song other than Cyrus's made it obvious that they knew each other very well. Short glimpses looking their direction, nothing long enough to raise questions, were all Cyrus would allow himself. But every time his eyes wandered across the dance floor to land on TJ with his arm wrapped around Kira's waist, it felt like a punch to the gut. Even when Iris tried to pull a similar move, turning around and pulling Cyrus's arms around her as they moved to the music, he couldn't get his mind off of what was happening across the room.

It wasn't fucking fair.

And then TJ caught his eye—caught him staring—and Cyrus did the first thing that came into his mind.

He pressed his lips to Iris's and hoped he looked like he was having a good time. 

Iris responded happily, leaning into the kiss with much more enthusiasm than Cyrus knew how to match. He felt her lips moving against his, her fingers tangling in his hair, and all he could think about was...

Another glance across the room and Cyrus felt like his stomach drop. TJ and Kira weren't just dancing, they had begun nipping at each other, playful kisses tracing each others' neck until eventually, TJ swooped in to press lips against lips, smiling as they got even closer to each other.

He couldn't help it, he couldn't hold back the... jealousy—it was absolutely jealousy even if he hated to admit it—biting away at his willpower. The only thing he could do as his lungs churned and his stomach did somersaults was to redouble his efforts, deepening the kiss with Iris until she responded with a pleased hum against his tongue.

It didn't do anything to stop TJ from kissing his girlfriend but...

At first, Cyrus thought he was seeing things. But, no. The flashing strobe made it difficult to see, but TJ was absolutely staring right back at him. Eyes locked with his. Occasionally someone would dance between their line of sight, but it didn't matter. One of them would shift slightly and the other was always there, still staring. even as Kira spun the two of them around and deepened the kiss, TJ shifted so that Cyrus could still see his eyes. His dark, stormy, intense eyes. So he could see that he wasn't turning away.

Time slowed. Cyrus could feel Iris pressed against him, could feel her lips on his—and so badly he wanted that to be what he was focusing on—but it didn't matter. His body was responding to her lips automatically but his brain was entirely focused on TJ, on watching him, watching his eyes, trailing down his long nose to where the back of Kira's head blocked his view. Staring at... at where Cyrus wanted to be. Unconsciously, he began responding to TJ's movements across the room, moving his head to match his, moving his lips against Iris's in response to what he imagined TJ was doing. And it was almost like the older teen realized what he was happening, as he moved slightly to make it even easier for Cyrus to see, never breaking eye contact except to blink.

The butterflies in his stomach, the anxiety and dread in his chest, it was the most Cyrus had ever felt while kissing someone.

It was almost like the two of them were—

Suddenly, the normal fluorescents turned on, blinding the crowd of teens as the strobe was shut off and the door to the common room flew open. Everyone in the room seemed to stumble out of their own private world, fifty hands immediately going up to pull a bud out of their ears.

"Code Red!" Buffy's whisper-yell from the doorway was just loud enough to be heard across the otherwise silent room. "This is not a drill!"

"The guard's coming down!" Andi added, holding up her phone. "Everyone move your ass!"

The reaction was instantaneous, fifty teens filing out of a room a and sprinting off the school property as fast as they could. Cyrus was struggling, having danced all night was already more cardio than his heart was used to, and was near the back of the pack by the time he made it out of the gate. He couldn't see where his friends were—everyone had started to disappear down side streets—but he needed them. He needed to find them. He could hear a voice behind him as the last person made it through the gate, pushing past him as he looked wildly for his friends, for Jonah, for anyone he recognized. He could see the beam of a flashlight making its way along the ground, heading straight toward him as—

A hand reached out from around the corner and pulled him out of sight, just as the beam from the guards light spilled out of the school driveway onto the street. His heart still racing, Cyrus could barely comprehend what was happening. His addled mind tried to put things together—he was safe for the moment, he hadn't been caught, because someone had saved him. Someone had... he felt a hand pushing on his chest, keeping him flush with the wall as he and his savior caught their breath. Even as his chest continued to heave, he summoned the focus to looked down, to follow the arm up the sleeve of the black hoodie until...

TJ.

Of course.

"Are you ready," The other teen whispered, a wild smile on his face as he took a number of deep breaths. "We're gonna have to run a bit more."

Cyrus looked down again at the hand still on his chest, took a mental evaluation of how much energy he had against how long it would take the guard to walk all the way to the gate, and realized the other teen was right. Still not fully capable of forming words, Cyrus nodded.

"C'mon," TJ's hand slid down until it was gripping his wrist, tugging him in the direction of safety once again. "Let's go."

And then they were off, TJ pulling him along into the dark of night, laughs bubbling out as they ran.

**_Friday, 10:57 PM_ **

"So. Things seem pretty spicy between you and, uh... Iris, right?" TJ and Cyrus were walking with comfortably slow, tired steps as they made their way along the river. They'd been chatting—about this, about that, about nothing in particular—most of the way to Cyrus's apartment. TJ had insisted he walk the younger boy home. And it had been uncomfortable for maybe the first five seconds, but that was all it took for Cyrus to burn through the last of his will power and give in to his incredibly strong urge to talk with the other teen.

"Spicy? What are we, a cookbook?" Cyrus grinned swerving slightly to bump against TJ's side. "I mean, um... yeah. She's cool. I guess."

"You guess?" The taller boy shoved Cyrus by the shoulder, then immediately grabbed his arm to pull him back to his side. It gave the shorter boy a bit of whiplash, but he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of his throat. "Is it new, or something? You two were all over each other."

"Oh," Cyrus felt his heart twist even as TJ let out a good-natured laugh. "I mean, yeah. It is new. Really new. But... yeah. It's more like... she is all over me."

"More than you want, or something?"

Cyrus found himself wishing he could make TJ understand how right he was.

"Like I said, it's new," Cyrus muttered, looking down at the pavement under his feet. "It's stressing me out, but..." he sighed, and saw TJ turn towards him out of the corner of his eye.

It looked like TJ wanted to say something for a second, but only the sound of their footsteps broke the silence of the night.

"What about uh... you and Kira. It was Kira, right? Is that... new?" That wasn't the question that Cyrus wanted to ask—he was already pretty sure he knew the answer—but he felt it might be rude to say what was really running through his mind.

_Why the fuck do you have a girlfriend?_

"No... definitely not new." TJ shrugged, pushing up the sleeves of his hoodie. "It's been pretty much forever, the two of us."

"Oh yeah, I uh... I got that feeling. Watching you, um... watching you two dance." Cyrus could feel his cheeks heating up as he realized he'd just brought up the staring. The kiss-staring. It was still so recent in his memory, it felt like it was still happening. If it wasn't for his face paint, he knew he'd be glowing bright red under the street lights. "That's cool. She seems cool."

"She is cool," TJ confirmed, a half-smile on his face. "I mean, she's a ruthless bitch, but she's cool."

"Oh. Yeah. That's nice. I think."

"Yeah. But... can I tell you something?" TJ leaned down, getting his face down to Cyrus's eye level with a surprisingly wistful look in his eyes.

"Believe it or not, under this closed-off, grumpy exterior is a kid who was raised by psychiatrists. I am uniquely qualified to say 'yes' to this situation," Cyrus grinned.

"Cool," TJ nodded, staying quiet for a few feet as he stared straight ahead. Cyrus was just about to ask if he was waiting for anything in particular when TJ turned to him with a not-quite-sad look on his face.

"I think Kira and I are getting to the end of our story together."

"Oh," Cyrus nodded, trying to hide his surprise, trying to ignore the joy bubbling up in his chest. He wasn't sure if he was doing a good job at keeping up the emotionless psychiatrist face he'd seen his parents use so many times, but he was trying.

"Yeah, I dunno. It's just... I feel like we've been going around in circles for a while now," TJ explained. "Nothing's changing. Nothing's growing. Everything is a little too... controlled. And Kira's great, but I don't think I want that anymore."

"Maybe you're just tired of being in a relationship. I have this friend, Jonah, who used to always be dating someone. Literally always. But then he decided he wanted to just take a break. Be alone for a while. Said dating wore him out."

"Oh no, that's definitely not it," TJ grinned, looking goofily happy as he bumped into Cyrus with a clumsy step. "I love being in a relationship. I mean, I think I want to end things with Kira but that wouldn't put me off starting something with someone new. Y'know?"

"That's—!" _great!_ , "I mean, so...does that mean you can already picture yourself with a different girl?" Cyrus coughed, hoping it would mask the way his voice has squeaked in what was obviously—though he would absolutely deny it—excitement.

"Well, yeah," TJ swiveled his head, that pleased smile still on his face as he looked at Cyrus.

"Any, uh—"

"Not necessarily a girl, though."

TJ's smile didn't disappear as Cyrus's head shot up to meet his eyes. It just got more intense as the two of them walked, not breaking eye contact, neither of them saying a word. There was no ambiguity in what TJ had just said, and Cyrus could feel his mind racing as he tried to keep his face calm, as he tried not to react. Because he had no idea how to react. He understood what TJ was not-so-subtly implying—namely, that he was interested in men. But he refused to let himself think that it might mean he was interested in—

The edge of the sidewalk came up very unexpectedly, and Cyrus was caught off guard as he tripped over the raised edge of the pavement. 

"Shit. Oh. Fuck, um..." As Cyrus righted himself, he recognized the familiar apartment building they had found themselves in front of. "Well this is my place," his voice sounded thick, like there were hundreds of other things he wanted to be saying at that moment.

TJ was still staring at him with that satisfied smirk playing in his eyes.

"So this is where I say goodnight, then?" TJ paused, and then took a half step closer. There already wasn't a lot of space between the two of them, and Cyrus swore he could feel the other boy's body heat.

"Yeah," the younger boy swallowed around the lump in his throat, and decided that staying quiet would be favorable over talking. Especially as TJ's head twisted just a little bit, tilting to the side as if he was getting ready to lean down and—

"Cyrus? Hey! What are you doing out here? It's..." A familiar, overly happy voice called out from the other side of the street. Instantly, TJ backed off whatever he had been about to do, looking up to smile at whoever had interrupted their... moment. "It's after eleven! Has Reed already convinced you to give up your bedtime?"

With a sigh, and a crushed feeling in his heart that he refused to acknowledge, Cyrus tore his eyes away from TJ's face and turned to see the last person he expected to see in Shadyside that night.

Because she was supposed to be in Washington, D.C.

Standing on the sidewalk, illuminated by the red brake light of an idling taxi, with a pillow around her neck and a suitcase beside her, was Amber. Just... waving at him.

And by the time Cyrus got over the absurdity of that fact and turned back around, TJ was already silently waving goodbye as he walked towards the nearest bus station. A smile on his lips and a look in his eyes that Cyrus absolutely refused to think about.

Except, not really. Because even as Amber pulled him into a hug with a squeal of joy, that look was all he could think about.

TJ was all he could think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this one. For some reason, this chapter was a lot easier to write than I expected. I thought I'd have a lot more trouble making the Common Room crew be down to throw a party in the school but I think I did a pretty good job of explaining things. Let me know what you think! Please! This is a lot of words to put on a page, and I'd really appreciate more feedback!


	4. The Boy Who Was Afraid of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus has a girlfriend. TJ has a girlfriend. It's simple math, really—nothing is going to happen. It doesn't matter what Cyrus feels. It doesn't matter that the connection between them feels even stronger than it did a week ago. It doesn't matter. And yet...

**_Saturday, 11:02 AM_ **

"Honestly, DC is amazing, guys. It is such a cool city. And so busy! There's so much to do literally every day—it was almost exhausting, to be honest." Amber sighed, cradling a mug of too-hot tea between her hands with a distracted smile. "The museums, the people... everywhere you looked, there was some poor kid getting dragged along by his parents to experience 'The history of America!' But... I missed this place." With a fond look in her eyes, the blonde scanned the apartment and affectionately rubbed the couch cushion. It was all very sweet.

But all Cyrus could think about was why she was there, why she wasn't in DC, and why she had to arrive at exactly _that_ time the previous night.

"So it took you this long to realize how empty your life is without us?" Reed continued to brood near the window—as he'd been doing since he got over the surprise of waking up to find a new inhabitant in the apartment—leaning against the sill with his forehead pressed against the glass. "We're so honored. And I suppose now we're just supposed to let you crash here, right? No heads up, no time to... to cancel plans..."

"Pretty much," Amber shrugged, an unbothered smile oh her lips as she took a tentative sip of her drink. 

"That's cold, Amber. That’s... You've got some big assumptions goin' on there. Maybe we didn't miss you as much as you think."

"Yeah. You did."

Reed shifted, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out the window. From Cyrus's vantage point in the love seat across the room, he could just make out his roommate's desperate attempts to hold back a smile.

"Somehow you're even a bigger bitch than when you left—" Reed only managed half of a dramatic turn before completely abandoning his attempts to hide his giddiness "—and I love it!" 

With a decidedly-not-manly squeal, Reed fell onto the couch, wrapping his former roommate in a bear hug even as she let out a shout of complaint. "Fuckin' alpha bitch, you are! Of course, you can stay here! You, me, and Lester, it'll be just like old times!"

"For fuck's sake—the tea! Reed! You're gonna..."

"I don't think Reed's gonna let you go, this time," Lester shifted his position on the sofa, giving the bundle that was Reed and Amber a bit more room. "You might have to cancel your return flight."

"Oh, god no." Amber's voice was strained as she half-heartedly tried to throw Reed to the other side of the couch. "This is temporary, dear boys. Just until I clear some stuff up at home—seriously, you're crushing me, Reed!"

"And I'm never letting you go again, you stone cold bitch! You leave for DC for four months. What's next? New York? LA? A year? Forever?"

"Maybe!" Finally, Amber squirmed her way out of Reed's grasp. "Get away from your desperate ass."

"You love me."

"I hate you, and you smell like a dead ferret."

"You love me more than life itself! And what you’re smelling is my new cologne, it’s called _petit furet mort_ and men have been throwing themselves at me nonstop because of it."

The bickering—the half-hidden smiles as the two began trading bitter insults—brought Cyrus back to the first week he had moved in. Right before Amber had left for her internship. The apartment had been so full, he hadn’t had a moment of privacy, but Reed had spent the entire time ignoring him and lamenting Amber's imminent departure. It had been perfect. Cyrus had spent the week being thankful to be ignored at home for the first time in his life. 

There had been so much noise, so much chatting and laughing and love-filled arguing that it almost drove Cyrus crazy. He wasn’t used to a home filled so much noise, so much chaos, so much... life.

He tried not to think about how obvious it was that his roommates liked Amber significantly more than him.

"What about school?" Cyrus decided it was time to interrupt the love-hate-fest going on in front of him as he drained his mug of coffee—the question had been sitting in his head all morning, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer. "Didn't your semester just start?"

"Oh, um," Amber glanced over at the younger boy, an uncomfortable look on her face for just a second before it was replaced with an uncaring shrug. "You know. Semester started two weeks ago and none of the professors will care what I do until the first exam comes around. I can just watch my lectures online, submit any work online—I've got a week or two before anyone even notices I'm gone."

"Perfect!" Reed retreated into the corner of the couch, a satisfied smile still glued on his face. "You can stay in Cy's room, of course."

The youngest teen's head snapped up, confusion written all over his face. "She can what?"

"You heard me," Reed shrugged as if he was explaining the simplest thing in the world, completely ignoring Cyrus as the younger teen shook his head in disbelief. "Only an asshole would make such a beautiful goddess sleep on the couch—"

"Reed..." Amber shrugged off Reed's attempt to grab her chin.

"No! No, seriously. One night on the couch and look how exhausted she looks. I've never seen her so stressed. Honestly, you should be ashamed, Cyrus Goodman. This is a house of gentlemen, and we will offer whatever we have to a lady in need."

"Says the guy with only a tenuous belief in the concept of gender," Amber rolled her eyes, shoving at Reed's knee. "Seriously, I can handle the couch."

"Absolutely not!" There was laughter behind Reed's eyes—there was no doubt in Cyrus's mind that he was greatly enjoying this—as he dramatically put his foot down. "You'll be sleeping on a bed, and I won't hear another word on the matter."

"Then give up your room!" Cyrus's voice was a bit louder, a bit more strained than he wanted. "You have the biggest bed, anyway! You could just share it with her!"

"I would never deny Amber her privacy."

"But—"

"Whoa! Hey! Calm down, little sparrow." Reed's devilish grin belied his calming hand gestures. "It only makes sense that Amber takes back her room. It was hers for more than a year, right? It's where she'll be most comfortable."

"And then she gave it to me! Seriously, I—Amber, come on. Help me out here."

All he got in response was an apologetic smile before Amber went back to drinking her tea.

"You can't just kick me out of my room," Cyrus continued, "it's literally where I live."

"You can take the couch," Reed shrugged. "Besides, being in this apartment is really about more than just living here. It's more like... a family."

"So does that make you the deadbeat dad," Amber's sarcasm was only slightly muffled by the mug she held to her lips.

"Exactly," Reed accepted, happily. "Then Amber's the mom. And you are like... the cousin," Reed concluded.

"Eh... like a second cousin," Lester offered.

Cyrus found himself caught squarely between outrage and shame—a very uncomfortable mixture of emotions—as Amber punched Reed's shoulder. On the one hand, he knew that Reed and Lester considered him someone to put up with at best, but it was embarrassing hearing them spell it out in such explicit language. On the other hand, the fire in his throat didn't want to be held back any longer. He may not be part of the family, but...

"The second cousin who just, I don't know, pays part of the rent, right? That second cousin?" He could feel his stomach flipping as the words spilled out of his throat. Reed returned his glare with one of his own.

"Is that what you do?" The lanky blond leaned forward, suddenly all business. "Well, you do a shit job of it, kid. Twenty-nine days late every month—if I charged late fees, I'd make more money off you than I do serving tables!"

Cyrus's throat closed up as his eyes dropped to the floor, mentally berating himself for being such an idiot. Of course. His dad still hadn't gotten back to him from last week, he was down to his last $20, and he decided to bring up the rent? Sometimes, he couldn't believe how dumb he was. He tried to look up, to meet Reed's glare with some level of defiance, but as he caught the look of concern on Amber's face he had to look away again.

"But fine! No big deal," Reed continued, suddenly lightening up his stance as he leaned back once again, "we will be... democratic about this. All rent-paying roommates who think Amber should take Cyrus's room while she's here, say 'Aye.'"

Immediately the blond’s own hand went up, his 'aye' being echoed a few seconds later by Lester.

Even as Amber looked like she was about to argue the results, Reed stood with a grin.

"Well, there you go. The 'Aye's have it."

"Thanks," Cyrus slammed his mug down on the coffee table, feeling defeated. "Really feeling the love, here."

"Adversity builds character, young man!" Reed called out as Cyrus stood, his satisfaction with the results just as obvious as the younger teen's frustration.

"Don't mind him," Lester muttered to Amber as Cyrus stomped down the hallway to disappear into his room. "He's always like this on Saturday mornings. I swear, it's like his world ends every Friday."

"He'll get over it," Reed fell back onto the couch, immediately wrapping his arms around Amber once again. "Don't worry about him. Tell us more about DC! What was it like? Were the guys hot? Did you meet Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez? Is she as amazing as she is in my dreams?"

As the three former roommates settled into the couch, only Amber looked up when the door to Cyrus's—her—room slammed shut. Filing that away as something to fix later—soon, but not right that moment—Amber took another sip of her tea and began to recount the best of the best adventures from the last four months.

**_Saturday, 1:25 PM_ **

_Message received at 12:08 AM_

_TJ: Did you know that buses don't run at midnight?_

_TJ: I feel like that's something I shouldve known but ive been sitting at a bus stop for twenty minutes now and it only just occurred to me_

_TJ: Shit youre prob asleep tho. sorry._

Cyrus sat on what was supposed to be his bed, in what was supposed to be his room, staring at a message from what was supposed to be... a friend.

So why had he just pulled off his sheets, and tugged on the almost-musty lilac-colored comforter that Amber had left in the closet so many months ago? And why was he cleaning up his shit, making space for Amber to unpack her bags and making sure he'd have everything he needed during his exile to the couch? And why had he stopped doing all of that just stare at the thirteen-hour-old messages on his phone with a giddy smile on his face and a hurricane of butterflies in his chest?

TJ texted him. He had been exhausted, emotionally and physically, and was probably snoring into his pillow—for the last time in who knows how long—when the messages had come in. He'd woken up to an emergency roommate meeting, been betrayed by the people he was living with, and then spent a considerable amount of time pouting and angry-cleaning. And now he was taking a well-deserved break to stare at his phone because Jonah had texted him, and Iris had texted, and his mom had texted him, and _TJ had texted him._

When the older teen had asked to exchange numbers on the walk home, Cyrus had just figured he was being... cordial.

But TJ had sent him a message, and now, thirteen hours later, he needed to respond. Right? He just needed to figure out what to say, type it out, and keep this... friendship going. It was a friendship. The start of a friendship—maybe one day, when the twisting in his gut calmed down it would grow into something like what he and Jonah had—and all he needed to do was send something back.

Anything.

Just... any possible combination of words.

_Cyrus: ~~oh man that sucks. let me know you made it home safe~~_

No. Nope, that definitely wasn't it. Cyrus scrunched his nose as he deleted the words, appalled at how stupid that would have been. 'Let me know you made it home safe?' That was way too... way too caring. Friends don't get that worried. That was the kind of thing grandmas said when you left after the last night of Channukkah. That's what moms were supposed to say. That's what Iris had sent him at some point that morning—he would respond to her eventually—and what Kira had probably sent to TJ at some point as well. No, that wasn't right.

_Cyrus: ~~sucks to be you~~_

Oh god, no. Cyrus shook his head, confused how he had somehow gone all the way around and landed on the kind of thing _Marty_ would have sent. He wanted this guy to like him—as a friend!—not get the urge to punch him in the nose.

_Cyrus: last night was cool. ~~thanks for keeping me from having to walk home all alone.~~_

That wasn't bad. That was... almost good. Cyrus was no social butterfly, but that could almost be described as friendly. It was just a tad bit too... much. Running a hand through his increasingly wild hair, he paused a moment before deciding to delete the second part. Then, ignoring the whirlwind of nerves spinning around his gut, he hit send.

_Cyrus: last night was cool_

With a relieved sigh, Cyrus set down his phone, taking a second to get his heart to calm down. Clearly, he needed to get used to making new friends, because it was ridiculous that this was how his mind and body reacted. Chewing on his lip, he surveyed the room—still his for the moment—and the mess he had left to clean. He mostly just needed to organize and clean off his desk. An annoyance, but probably enough to distract him from—

That plan was quickly forgotten as his phone vibrated on the comforter beside him.

TJ had already responded.

_TJ: Yeah it was. it was great getting to chill again._

Cyrus couldn't stop himself from replying immediately, a goofy glued smile on his face.

_Cyrus: it really was. im down to chill again if youre free today_

The idea of seeing TJ again had just popped into his head and he couldn't get rid of it. He looked around again. If he stopped moaning about his situation and actually cleaned, he could be done within an hour. Then he could jump on a bus and get to TJ's before—

_TJ: glad you had fun. sorry tho im not available today._

Or he could just work on his English essay.

_TJ: see you on monday_

He tried not to focus on the wave of disappointment crashing around in his brain—because, of course TJ would be busy; he had a girlfriend and probably a whole set of friends and a family. It would be stupid to get upset over him being busy. So instead of being upset, Cyrus distracting himself with formulating a plan to make his tenure on the couch as annoying for Reed as possible.

"You doing okay?"

Amber's voice knocked the younger boy back to reality as she leaned against the doorframe, an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm fine," Cyrus jumped up from the bed, busying himself with picking up loose clothes from the floor and shoving them into his hamper—he needed to go to the laundromat soon. "Just... getting your room ready."

"Cy—"

"And yes, if you're wondering, I do accept tips."

"Seriously, don't worry about it, kiddo. I'm fine on the couch." Cyrus paused, looking up from the mess on his desk to meet Amber's eyes. She was staring at him, running her fingers through her long golden hair absentmindedly, clearly waiting for a response.

"You know I hate it when you call me that."

"Fine," Amber sighed, pushing herself away from the doorframe to walk over to the bed. "Don't worry about it _Cyrus_."

"If I don't do it, Reed's just gonna... kick me out," Cyrus shrugged, turning back to his desk. The chaotic jumble of pens, papers, and notecards was such a stark contrast from the studying surface he used to have.

"He's not going to kick you out," Amber fell onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to hold to her chest. "I won't let him."

"Then he'll kill me."

"That does sound more like him..."

The two of them shared a look, silent communication passing between them until finally Cyrus set down the papers and fell onto the bed beside her.

"It's just for a few weeks, right?" he asked, staring at the ceiling. 

"Absolutely," Amber said, rolling around until her head was next to his. "A month max, but definitely temporary. I don't want to be stuck living with you pigs any longer than strictly necessary. And I know you want me gone—"

"Oh, don't act like you're unwanted," Cyrus rolled his eyes. "Reed and Lester are tripping over themselves to keep you here. They'd love if you moved back permanently."

"Well if that does happen..." Amber chuckled, gently elbowing the younger teen beside her. "How about this: if I'm I'm still here at the end of September, I'll pay half your rent."

"Amber..." Cyrus was quiet, and Amber could hear the reluctance in his voice.

"You said the rent wasn't a problem, Cy." Without looking away from the ceiling, Amber tried to reach out for Cyrus's hand, only to find that he had already pulled it away and was playing with the hem of his shirt. "Do you need help?"

"No." The word was short, filled with frustration. "My dad... he's just a little late this month. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine, Amber," Cyrus shook his head. There was no way he was going to let Amber use the small amount of money she had—student loans and an internship don't exactly fill the bank—to bail him out. His dad was a psychiatrist with a full docket of patients and a verbal agreement with his son, and Cyrus was going to hold him to that. "Can we just—can we just not talk about that. Let's talk about something else. Let's... fuck, let's..."

"We could..." at the edge of his vision, Cyrus could see Amber's hands gesturing in the air above her, "Oh, I know. Why don't you tell me about your new friend?"

"My new... friend?" Cyrus asked, sitting up so he could give Amber a confused look.

"That guy you were with last night."

"Oh, uh..." Cyrus turned back, jumping from the bed and walking back over to his desk. "That was just a, uh... a guy."

"And? Who was this guy?" Amber pushed herself up on her elbows, taking note of a few of Cyrus's nervous ticks—making himself busy and tugging at his shirt were big ones. "Is he new?"

Cyrus turned around, a stack of notecards in his hand and an aggravated glare in his eyes. "New? I—what do you... why do you care?"

"Just... wanted to know what's been going on," Amber shrugged, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "It's been a while, and you haven’t exactly been in touch, Goodman. And you guys seemed close. That's all."

"Well, we're not," Cyrus shoved the cards into his bag with more force than necessary, bending half of them in the process. "Barely know the guy."

"Okay, well—"

"Look, not to kick you out of your own room," Cyrus interrupted, turning around to face his desk again. "But if you want to be able to sleep here tonight, I still have some work to do."

"Right..." Wearing a look that betrayed just how sure she was the Cyrus was hiding something, Amber slowly stood from the bed. "I guess I'll just... leave you to it then."

"Yeah. Cool."

With a sigh, Amber straightened her shirt and made her way toward the open door. In the living room, Reed could be heard celebrating a victory in Mario Kart, his shouts of 'fuck you, I win,' echoing off the walls. It was like any other Saturday, and that just made Cyrus feel even more uncomfortable as he went back to clearing his desk. It felt like something more momentous was supposed to be happening.

"Hey, Cy?" Confused, Cyrus turned around, finding Amber once again leaning on the doorframe with a soft smile on her lips. He wasn't sure how long she had been there—if she had left and returned, or had just been staring at his back for the past few minutes—but he felt his heart settle as he stood under her appraising stare. He didn't want to admit it, but he had been nervous when she left. He hadn't wanted to snap at her like that, but she'd poked at all the wrong subjects and he still wasn't sure how to clear the air.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

**_Monday, 8:03 AM_ **

"We're fucked."

Cyrus's locker forcefully slammed shut just as he pulled himself out of it, Calculus book in one hand, freshly printed English essay in the other. Once his heartbeat finally calmed down enough for him to remember where he was standing, he quickly realized what had caused his near-beheading.

Buffy and Andi were standing on either side of his locker, Andi's hand firmly holding his door closed as she stared him down.

"I'm sorry, what?" Cyrus shook his head, trying to clear away the fog of adrenaline. He hadn't slept too well the night before—that couch was definitely not made with long-term care of the human spine in mind—and he was counting on the hope that he had misheard the older teen. Even as Andi began nervously poking at the colorful clips in her hair, he desperately held onto the possibility that his ears had been mistaken.

"She said we're fucked." Buffy unfortunately clarified. "But she—"

"What do you mean 'we," Cyrus took a step back, trying to put distance between himself and the other two. Already, his mind was filling with terrifying scenarios, images of being called into an office with Metcalf and both his parents pushed their way into his thoughts. He couldn't stop his voice from getting tight and more than a little bit squeaky. "There's no 'we,' here."

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking a step closer with arms crossed over her chest. "Oh, so now you don't want to be part of the group—"

"I was never part of the group!" Cyrus struggled to keep his voice down. The crowd of students making their way through the hall seemed utterly unconcerned with what was transpiring at his locker, but he was desperate not to draw too much attention.

"You are, and everyone knows it! Just—" Andi caught herself, squeezing her hands into fists before slowly exhaling and beginning to speak much more deliberately. "Look, we just need a... a little bit of help here."

"What does that mean?" Cyrus could feel his throat starting to close as he tried to focus on the girls in front of him. His brain was still yelling at him: he was about to be arrested, put on trial; his life was about to be over! Across the multiverse of Cyruses, he was surely the only one dumb enough to go to that damn party, and now he was going to pay for it! "I—fuck! What do you mean! What happened?"

"Okay, okay, let's calm down," Buffy lifted her open hands in a calming gesture, reaching out to squeeze Andi's shoulder as she gave the other girl a judgemental look. "Andi's overexaggerating a little bit here. There's nothing to freak out about. But we could still use your help."

"Will one of you just tell me what happened so that I can prepare myself for my fate! Please!"

Andi and Buffy paused, taking a moment to look at each other before answering. A few seconds of silence passed, the tension building in Cyrus’s chest until the two girls turned to him, concern in both their eyes. Slowly, Buffy let go of the shorter girl's shoulder and took another step towards the overly-anxious teen.

"Okay," her voice was just above a whisper as she threw an arm over Cyrus's shoulder. "No need to freak out. We got here early this morning to clean up in the common room, right? But Metcalf showed up—"

"Shit. Metcalf? Oh, fuck! What did he see?"

"I'm getting to that, thank you." Buffy rolled her eyes, tugging Cyrus even closer to her side with a bit more force than necessary. "As I was saying, we'd already cleaned most of the mess. The walls were clear and there was no sign of the punch or the lights or anything. But we didn't have a chance to move the tables back from the edge of the room, and he thought it was... questionable that we cleared out the space after we told him we would be using it as a place to study," Buffy explained. "See? Not really that bad, no matter how badly Andi is freaking out."

"He was asking questions," Andi added, sounding completely confident in her anxiety. "He was asking way too many questions."

"Well, what did you say?" Cyrus asked, trying—and failing—to convince himself that he believed Buffy over Andi.

"I panicked," the shorter girl explained. "He wanted to know why we pushed everything to the side and, I... I dunno. I told him we were repainting the mural. That we didn't want the paint to get on everything."

"There, see? It's all good," Buffy's voice was calm, as if this was somehow an everyday occurrence for her. "No one's in trouble, we just need you—"

"He knows something is up, though," Andi interrupted. "I saw him talking to one of the guards this morning. Even if he doesn't know why, even if he doesn't know it was us, he definitely knows there were kids at the school this weekend. And you know how he is; once he's caught wind of bad behavior he will keep just... digging. And digging. And digging." Andi punched her hand for emphasis. "Until we're fucked."

"So that is where you come in," Buffy swooped in, all smiles as she pushed Andi to the side and placed both hands on Cyrus's shoulders.

"Wha... What is where I come in. I mean, it seems to me that you two girls have everything handled. I will be happy to just stay out of your hair, leave the rest of the common room to you and—"

"Yeah... no." 

With a gentle show of strength, Buffy spun Cyrus around, pulling him back to her side as she began to walk the two of them down the hallway. As they left the younger teen's locker behind, a senior that Cyrus recognized from the party walked by, turning on his heel to greet Buffy as he passed. With a grin, the older boy snapped his fingers at the two of them before tossing them a friendly, "Great party on Friday!"

"Well at least people are interested in the common room," Buffy winced, turning to look at Cyrus with a big fake grin on her face. "So that's the thing: people are idiots, Cyrus. I just want—no, I need—your help... herding the biggest idiots of the bunch."

"What's... that supposed to mean?" Cyrus choked out, trying subtly to weasel his way out of Buffy's grip. 

As the two of them walked, Buffy directed them around a corner and pointed Cyrus at his three friends, busy laughing with each other at the end of that hall. "Between Jonah and Marty, I don't trust your friends, Goodman," Buffy leaned down to whisper in his ear. "And I especially don't trust them to do what I tell them to do. So your job is to just to make sure they keep things quiet. No stupid jokes, nothing like that, especially not in front of Metcalf. For at least a week. Some other emergency will distract him by then. You do that, and this can all still blow over."

"Oh. Oh, yeah," Cyrus swallowed down the lump that had grown in his throat, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He hoped that his friends weren't dumb enough to actually do something that would reveal them all to Metcalf. He was, at the very least, pretty sure that Gus wouldn't mess up. "I can do that."

"That's what I like to hear!" Buffy released the smaller teen, clapping him on the back with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Honestly," Cyrus turned around, a relieved smile still pulling at the corner of his lips, "I was worried you needed me to intimidate the guard or repaint the mural or something. That would have been a disaster—I am almost as artistic as I am intimidating."

"Oh. Uh... no. No worries there." Buffy shrugged. "That new guy, TJ? He volunteered for the mural."

"Say what now?" Cyrus spun on his heel, almost falling on his face and he turned to face Buffy once again.

"Yeah, I ran into him this morning outside the art room. Asked if anyone in his class would be interested and he said he'd do it. Fuck, I hope he's good, I'd hate if we just ended up with more of the same shit."

"He's good." Cyrus, looking away before he could meet Buffy's questioning gaze. "He's uh... You know, if... I could help him. I mean—I could assist him. If he needs it."

"Um..." Buffy looked suspiciously at Cyrus’s sudden interest, but then shook her head and looked past him at his friends who were trying to get his attention. "Sure..."

"Cool, so, uh..." tripping over his feet, Cyrus turned back around, acknowledging Jonah's call with a hand before glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah. Just let me know. About the mural. And I will... yeah!"

"Buffy! Hey, sick dance moves on Friday!" Marty's voice rose above the din of the hallway, his hands waving exaggeratedly while Gus tried to pull them down. Cyrus wasn't sure how the girls’ basketball captain responded behind him, but whatever she did, it made Marty’s smile fall while Jonah and Gus burst out laughing.

"Clearly you're starting to wear her down," Gus shook his head as Cyrus leaned against the wall in front of the three of them. "Keep doing what you're doing, and she'll definitely fall for you."

"You really think so?" Marty asked, a hopeful look in his eyes.

"Either that or she'll kill you. Actually—mmm, yeah—that seems more likely."

"What can I say?" Marty sighed, falling against the wall of lockers with a clang, "the more she treats me like trash, the more I want her."

"Well that certainly explains the dreams with the whip," Jonah laughed, shaking his head as he turned to face the youngest of the group. "You have a good weekend, Cy?"

"Oh, uh..." The shorter teen shrugged, trying not to think of everything that occurred after the party on Friday night. "Yeah. Sure. Same ol', same ol'. Um... yeah. Oh, and Amber's back."

"Wait, really? What's she—"

"Who's Amber?" Marty shoved Jonah out of the way, getting in front of Cyrus with that over-excited look on his face. "More importantly, is she hot?"

"Amber is no one you need to worry about," Cyrus shook his head, turning slightly to look at Jonah as the other teen regained his balance.

"Cause if she's hot, you should bring her to my party on Saturday."

“You’re having a party on Saturday?”

“For my birthday, yeah.” Marty nodded, still smiling excitedly.

“Is this,” Cyrus turned to Jonah, “like, a normal amount of parties? I mean, I know I was sort of out of the social loop for a few years, but this just seems like... a lot of parties.”

“This month has been sorta crazy,” Jonah shrugged.

“Dude!” Marty interjected. “You are not allowed to bitch out on my birthday!”

“You can’t do that to him,” Gus stood on his tip-toes so that he could rest his chin on Marty’s shoulder, a big fake frown on his lips. “We’re his only friends, Goodman. If you don’t show up he’ll be crushed.”

“Uh... shut up, for one.” Marty reached over his shoulder, grabbing Gus by the face to shove him away. “And two: Cy doesn’t want to miss it because it’s going to be one of the best fucking parties ever! My mom’s in one of her hyper moods—she’s going all out on this. Already ordered a truckload of booze.”

“Wait, your mom did?” Jonah asked, slapping Marty’s shoulder in surprise.

“Yeah, sweet, right? Lucky timing.”

“Holy shit, go Mrs. Foss. I had no idea your mom was so cool.”

“Eh,” Marty shrugged. “Depends on the day.”

“Okay, well now I’m definitely coming,” Gus grinned, picking up his bag from the ground.

“What, like you had something better to do? But seriously, are you coming, Cy?”

Cyrus snapped back to reality, abandoning his attempt to envision the type of parent that would buy their kid alcohol—he’d attempted to imagine his mom doing it, but his brain couldn’t even conceive of a universe where that was a possibility—in order to respond to his friend.

“Um, of course, man. Yeah, I’ll be there.” As much as the younger teen wanted to finally have a quiet weekend, even he couldn’t justify missing his the birthday of one of his only friends.

He wanted to, but he knew the shit he’d catch for staying home would be much worse than the actual experience of going to the party.

“You can crash at my place after,” Jonah offered.

“Sweet! So you can bring Iris, then” Marty grinned, grabbing his bag. “And Maria.”

“I thought you were gonna invite Buffy?” Jonah asked, mostly ignoring Cyrus's skeptical glare.

“I am,” Marty shrugged. “Gotta hedge my bets, gentlemen.”

The older teen’s attempt to garner a high five was summarily ignored by the rest of the group as they split up to head to their classes.

It was becoming very clear to Cyrus that he might never again get to enjoy a quiet weekend.

**_Tuesday, 10:42 AM_ **

“So now he won’t shut up about it,” Libby puffed out her cheeks, eyes filled with frustration. “He keeps saying how ‘hot’ it is.”

“Well what did you expect, girl?” Andi rolled her eyes, pulling out her AP Bio folder as Cyrus lowered himself onto the stool beside her. “Men are trash. Walker included.”

“He’s an artist!” Libby’s hands moved quickly with exasperation. “I thought he’d be more in touch...”

“Man first, artist second,” Andi shrugged.

“What are you guys talking about?” Cyrus asked, placing his own textbook on the lab bench as the two girls turned to face him.

“Libby told Walker she was bi and he’s being a man about it.” Andi explained sounding equal parts disappointed and disgusted.

“Should I be offended by that?”

“No,” as Andi flipped to that day’s homework in her binder, Cyrus felt his phone buzz in his pocket. “You should be offended by the idiots of your gender who make what I said accurate.”

_TJ: Buffy told me you wanted to help me with the mural?_

_TJ: You still down? Wed? 330?_

He couldn’t keep his smile from growing, even as he rapidly typed out his response.

_Cyrus: yeah! Absolutely works for me._

“Did we have homework?” Libby was signing as he looked up, gesturing to Andi’s folder.

“Yes. Libby, we literally always have homework.”

The older teen blanched, leaping from her seat on the edge of the table and sprinting to the front of the room without another word. Beside him, Cyrus could hear Andi chuckling as she pulled her work out of her binder. As he watched Libby frantically pull open her book and begin scribbling on a piece of paper, a thought popped into his head.

“Hey, can I... ask you a question?”

“If you need to copy my homework, my answer is ‘no.’” Andi muttered, reaching down to pull another book out of her bag.

“No it’s—actually I wanted to ask how, uh... how was it when Libby told you she was bi?”

"Uh..." Andi sat back on her stool, a confused look on her face, "how... was it? I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean, like... was it weird? For you?" Cyrus looked down at his folder, trying to ignore the feeling of Andi staring at him. Even as the silence stretched on for far longer than he felt comfortable with, he refused to look up from his papers.

"Why would it be weird?" Andi finally asked, her words slow and deliberate. "Wait. Cyrus, do you have a problem with Libby being bi?"

"What—no!" Cyrus's head snapped up, eyes filled with worry. The last thing he needed was people thinking he was some sort of homophobe. "But, like... you know. Other people might have a problem. Right? Or they could have? I wasn't really paying attention back when she started telling people."

"Well, no. It wasn't weird. She's my friend—and besides, it's not like it was a huge surprise or anything."

"What if it was a surprise?"

"What does that mean?" Andi's face was skeptical.

"I don't know! Just. Like, there's assholes out there. There's shitty parents and religious nuts and just horrible people, right? Even here at Jefferson, our goddamn Calculus teacher is so weirdly Christian that he wouldn't let his daughters go to college—everyone knows that story—so I have to assume he doesn't have one of those 'I'm a safe space' stickers on his door. So, like... did any of those people give her any trouble?"

"Maybe?" Andi shrugged, turning back to her book with a highlighter in hand. "I didn't see it, though. Except for the occasional asshole making a comment in the hallway."

"But... so you didn’t even care?"

With a sharp inhale, Andi slammed her highlighter down and shifted on her stool to completely face Cyrus, leaning forward with eyes narrowed and full of fire. "Okay, what's the deal, Goodman. What's your game."

"No game!" Cyrus insisted. "No game. You guys are just so chill about it. Like, Libby talks about it every day like it's no big deal, and you guys don't blink an eye. And you're, like, her best friend and you're not at all worried about her? I thought it was supposed to... wasn't it ever tough? Or scary?"

"Yeah, Cyrus, of course I was worried for her. At first." Andi's words came out fast, and her glare did not grow any less intense. She sounded upset. She sounded offended. "But there's one thing you clearly don't understand about Libby: she's the bravest fucking person I know. Braver than you could ever understand. Did you know she had to argue with the school board just to be allowed to come to Jefferson?"

"I, uh—no..."

"Yeah," Andi shook her head. "They didn't have the resources in place for a deaf student here. They wanted to send her to a smaller school downtown. Even her parents wanted her to go. But Libby wanted to come to Jefferson with her friends, so she fought them. Hard. At one point she pissed off a board member so much that he tossed her out of a hearing. But she won anyway. And then last year, when she came out, and Ryan Avis said some bullshit to her on Valentine’s Day, she kicked the bastard in the balls."

"Oh..."

"So, yeah. Maybe I used to be worried because I knew that it would take a lot of strength to be able to handle all the stuff she has to deal with. But then I got over myself and realized that Libby is stronger than I'll ever be. So I don't know what all this bullshit was about, but you can stop your questioning how much I care about my friends, thanks."

"Right, I..." Andi turned away, flipping through her book without another word. As he sat there, Cyrus felt his phone vibrate again. Even as the teacher began to speak, Andi showed no signs of letting the sudden animosity. Swallowing down the uncomfortable churning in his gut, he let himself hope that the message was a response from TJ. He really needed something to lift his mood.

_Mom: I had a dream last night. You were slipping down a deep, dark, bottomless hole. Almost out of reach, but at the last minute I was able to grab your hand. I want to help you, my son, but I worry you will soon be too far out of my reach. Do not mistake stubbornness for strength. I love you._

Staring at the message from his mom, the first one he'd opened in weeks, Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine.

He didn't feel very strong.

**_Tuesday, 11:52 AM_ **

Cyrus had never been so thankful for the bell to ring. Andi had been giving him the cold shoulder all period, and the butterflies in his stomach just would not calm down. As was quickly becoming a tradition, he'd finished his conversation with Andi feeling more idiotic than ever—like he had no idea what was even going on in his head anymore. He wasn't even sure what he had been trying to get at—was it really out of concern for Libby? Was it concern for a similarly bisexual TJ? Was he testing the waters for himself—because that was ridiculous. As he and Gus pushed their way out of the class at the back of the group, he gave up on trying to interpret his own stupidity.

It didn't matter anymore. All he wanted to do was get some lunch, and chill with his friends.

"Oh, hey Iris!" Gus's cheerful voice shoved it's way into Cyrus's head as his friend began to wave at the girl standing across from then. "How's your day going?"

"Hey Gus. Not too bad," Iris flashed the two of them a smile as she leaned against the wall outside their classroom. "How 'bout you?"

"Oh you know," Gus shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his vibrating phone. "Nothing special. Actually, sorry. I actually have to take this call. Talk to you later?" Iris nodded, all smiles while Gus waved goodbye and tossed a, "Later, bro," over his shoulder as he put his phone up to his ear.

"Hey, babe," once Gus had disappeared down the hall Iris pushed herself up, immediately stepping forward to give Cyrus a quick kiss that he was in no way prepared for. He tried not to look as confused as he felt when she pulled back, still smiling widely, but he wasn't sure how well he did.

"Hey."

"So, I was thinking," Cyrus couldn't help but think that Iris looked so happy as she swayed back and forth in a light blue blouse printed with dozens of scientific equations and constants. He was envious. And he couldn't help feeling uncomfortable as she continued to smile at him. "Let's do something after school on Wednesday."

"Oh, I uh... I can't." Cyrus dropped his eyes to the ground as he began chewing on his lip. It may have been stupid, but there was no way that he was going to give up an opportunity to meet up with TJ. "I already made plans. Sorry."

"Oh, okay. No problem, probably too short notice to do anything fun, anyway." Iris was completely undeterred, practically humming with positive energy as she reached out to grab his hand and tangle their fingers together. "How about Friday, yeah? We could go to the movies?"

Cyrus hummed, trying to sound and look as noncommital as possible. 

"Or we could just go grab some dinner? Walk around the city... make it our first real date."

"I..." Cyrus kicked at the ground, pulling his hand from hers. "I don't know. I think the guys are going to be doing something Friday night. I don't know if that'll work."

"Okay..." He expected to hear confusion, or anger—or maybe another offering—coming from Iris, but as a resigned sigh escaped her lips, he finally looked up from the ground. Iris was no longer swaying, her arms were now crossed over her chest as she looked off to the side. She was frustrated, which made perfect sense. Cyrus knew he was being stupid—so very stupid—but he just felt drained. And the thought of a date—of multiple continuous hours having to pretend that this was what he wanted—just made him even more exhausted.

Still, he knew he couldn't afford to ruin everything just because he was feeling a bit tired.

"Iris... look. I'm sorry. I just don't want my friends to think I'm, y'know... abandoning them. Just because we're together, doesn't mean—"

"Okay, but... are we together?" Iris asked, looking back and meeting Cyrus's eye with a questioning stare. "Cause you said some very pretty things last week, but since then..." the brunette shrugged, an expectant look on her face.

And Cyrus stayed silent.

"Because I thought that the whole idea of dating someone was that you liked talking to them, and seeing them, and hanging out with them. No? Is it something else for you?" Iris gave him the opportunity to respond but—god, she was so right, and she had no idea. Cyrus liked Iris. She was cool, they had similar interests. But if he thought about who he really wanted to be talking to, to be spending time with—who he wanted to be stuck with for hours doing something stupid like painting a mural no one cared about—Iris was nowhere near the top of the list.

But TJ was. TJ, who he felt a real connection with. TJ, who he had plans with the following afternoon. Plans where they would be together, for hours, in a room, and probably alone.

He couldn’t ignore the spark of excitement in his gut, the one that wondered if anything other than painting would happen.

When Cyrus didn't say anything, Iris nodded and sighed. "Alright, well, never mind. You'll call when that's what you want, right?"

With a hard look in her eyes, Iris spun around, making it to the end of the hallway before Cyrus could even figure out if he wanted to try to stop her. And as he looked down at his phone, at the unopened messages from Iris still sitting there from that weekend, he couldn't tell what he felt more.

Guilt. Or Relief

**_Wednesday, 4:12 PM_ **

It had started out as a very promising day. He'd woken up to a notification from his banking app, the alert he’d been waiting on for so long just sitting on his lock screen like it was no big deal. But it was a big deal. A really big deal—he had money again! Even if his dad had never replied to any of his messages, the important part of the exchange had been completed. With his balance finally showing more than two digits and primary stressor mostly solved, there was literally a little extra pep in his step all day—he made it out of the apartment early enough to stop by Starbucks and get his first actual breakfast in weeks, he smiled at the random woman who sat next to him on the bus, he even gave Marty a high-five when the older teen recounted how he convinced Buffy to go to his party. Even the conspicuous lack of a 'Good morning' text from Iris wasn't enough to knock down his mood. If anything, it just added to the relief he was feeling.

And to top it all off, he’d spent the entire day with butterflies fluttering around his cheat, looking forward to meeting up with TJ. Anticipating with an unreasonable amount of joy the idea of rolling up his sleeves, and doing... something. 

He didn't know what it was, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something amazing was going to happen.

He'd even arrived five minutes early, just to give himself a chance to pace off the nerves that had been making his hands jittery all day while he waited for TJ to arrive.

He didn't expect to have to wait so long, though.

_Cyrus: I'm in the common room._

_Cyrus: dude where are you._

_Cyrus: my eyes are literally bleeding from staring at this hell wall for so long. you on your way?_

With another extended sigh, Cyrus scrolled through the messages he and TJ had exchanged over the weekend for what must have been the hundredth time. A wistful glance out the open door confirmed the same dreadful truth he had been trying not to think about all afternoon.

TJ wasn't coming.

He scanned through the other teen's words again, trying to find where he had gone wrong, trying to find the evidence to support what was now obvious: he had misread their... connection. Again. It was crystal clear, in retrospect. They'd exchanged maybe a dozen messages—a lot for Cyrus, but probably nothing for a guy like him—and as he reread their conversation, Cyrus knew that he was the one forcing it along. He'd convinced himself that TJ actually wanted to talk to him because of a few goofy late-night texts, and TJ had probably just been nice enough to humor the lonely, dorky Junior who tried to attach himself to his hip. 

Until it obviously became too much, stopped being fun, and the older teen stopped responding. Which apparently happened sometime in the last 24 hours.

Cyrus didn't want to acknowledge the pit he felt growing in his stomach. The desire to knock over the bucket of paint he was using as a chair and storm out of that room was strong, but he knew it would only add to the shame that was clouding the edge of this thoughts. He could feel them, the emotions he tried so hard to keep down, bubbling up in his throat. He could feel them threatening to boil over.

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

It's not like there was any mystery to it. He was probably just... off with his girlfriend, somewhere. So, of course TJ had decided to drop Cyrus like a hot potato. It was pretty much par for the course.

TJ just got there a little faster than most people.

"Cyrus?" An unexpected voice broke the lonely teen out of his depressing reverie. Cyrus tore his eyes away from his phone to glance up at the open door, surprised to find that he was no longer alone in the common room. Amber—for some reason—was standing in the doorway, a very confused look on her face.

"Am—wait... what are you doing here?" Cyrus asked, coughing away the roughness in his voice.

"Uh," a quick glance to the side, and Amber shrugged. "I had to get a copy of my transcript from the school for some documents. Thought I'd do it in person. See the old stomping grounds. You know. What are you still doing here?"

Cyrus shrugged, trying to hide his dour mood as he tossed his phone onto his bag.

"And why do you look like someone kicked your puppy," Amber asked, taking a few tentative steps into the room.

"Don't worry about it."

"Okay, rude, but whatever.” Her raised eyebrow let Cyrus know that she would probably be bringing this up later. “So. What is this place?"

"Uh, welcome to The Common Room, I guess." With an exaggerated groan, Cyrus pushed himself up to his feet, watching Amber slowly look around the room. "Or what will soon be the student lounge, at least."

"That's baller," Amber grinned, finally turning to face the younger teen. “Metcalf actually agreed to something like this?”

“I know, I was surprised too,” Cyrus shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll shut it down in a few weeks, but it’ll be cool ‘til that happens.”

“Mmm... yeah, except for that.” Amber pointed over Cyrus’s shoulder at the mural.

“I know, isn’t it horrible?” Another voice made itself known from the open doorway. The two of them spun around from admiring the mural to see Andi setting her bag down, Libby and Buffy a few feet behind.

“Honestly, I sort of love it? But yeah, it sucks.” Amber’s voice was light and friendly as she stepped forward, offering a hand to the colorfully dressed girl. “Hi, I’m Amber. I’m this dork’s roommate.”

“Roommate?” Andi asked, shooting Cyrus a questioning glance before turning back to the blonde in front of her. “Well, I’m Andi—wait, I remember you! You were in my ceramics class freshman year!”

“Were you the freshman that made all the rest of us look bad?” Amber grinned, shaking Andi’s hand excitedly.

“Maybe..?”

“Oh god, I hated you," Amber let out a cackle, head thrown back in joy.

“Uh... Good to know.”

“No—totally not your fault,” Amber grinned, calming herself as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, are you the one behind this place?”

“We are,” Buffy walked over to the two of them, leaving Libby to look to Cyrus with confusion all over her face. Cyrus signed a quick explanation— _Amber, friend, doesn’t know sign language._

“I would have killed for a common room,” Amber spun around again, looking over the room with a faint smile. “What’re your plans? Couches? I would definitely search Craigslist. We got our apartment’s for free that way.

“Wait,” Cyrus pushed himself into the conversation, grabbing Amber’s shoulder. ”That couch belonged to some... rando? Who gave it away for free? Amber, please tell me you guys at least cleaned it.”

“Um,” Amber turned to the frantic boy, a streak of guilt behind her forced smile. “Like, I tossed the cushion covers in the wash and Reed sprayed it down with Febreze. It didn’t smell or anything!”

“Oh god—Amber! I sleep on that thing now!” As he yelled, Cyrus began to feel tingles crawling over the back of his legs, skittering down his back, itching up his arm. Who knew what horrible creatures the crevices of that couch held. Bed bugs? Tics? Without waiting for a response, he sprinted to his bag to add ‘upholstery cleaner’ to his grocery list.

“Anyway...” Amber grinned, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the girls. “So what are you gonna do to this place?”

“We’re still planning it out,” Andi answered. “Definitely gonna do couches, though. Probably.”

“Are you the artist taking out that monstrosity?” Amber asked, gesturing over her shoulder to the paint cans and mural behind her.

Andi and Buffy both shook their heads. “I’m more of a 3-D artist,” Andi replied. “Sculpture and stuff. I suck ass with paint on a flat surface.”

“But it’s being taken care of, right Cyrus?” Buffy asked, turning to look at the boy still scratching at his arms on the other side of the room.

“Huh?” the younger teen’s head snapped up from his Google search for sanitation equipment, only to realize that all eyes were on him.

“You’re on it, right? The mural?”

“Just waiting for TJ,” Cyrus shrugged, trying to disguise any sadness from his voice. “He’s the artist.”

“Who’s TJ?” Amber asked, eyes locked with Cyrus even as she asked her question to the room.

“A new senior,” Buffy answered as she set her bag down. “You wouldn’t know him.”

“If you see a cute blond guy in a hoodie, that’s probably him.” Andi added.

“Oh my god, you do not think he’s cute. Do you?” Buffy looked at her friend like she’d just grown a second head.

“He is! Have you seen his face? And he’s tall, you know I like tall guys!” Andi defended herself. “But whatever, he’s taken—I saw him with his girlfriend at the party, so it’s not like it matters.”

“Just gonna say one word, Mack: Disappointed.”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Mrs. ‘Marty-looks-good-today’ Driscoll.”

“Andi!”

While the two friends went back and forth, Amber held her gaze entirely on Cyrus. He could see unasked questions flitting behind her eyes, could feel her becoming more curious as the seconds ticked by. And between her stare and Buffy and Andi’s debate over whether TJ was attractive—a word he had been trying very hard to avoid associating with the other teen—the tension in the room just became too much.

“I have to go,” he kept his voice low, hoping to be able to grab his bag and slip out before the arguing girls noticed. 

Or course, he had no such luck.

“Wait, Cyrus, what about the mural?” Buffy called after him as he made his way to the door.

“You’ll have to ask TJ. If you see him.”

His goal was just to get out of that room. Get away from the awkwardness, and the questions, and the embarrassment of being ditched. He didn’t even have a destination in mind—the next bus wouldn’t be by for at least half an hour, and his friends would have already left for the day. All the mattered was that he got away from—

“Cy, wait!”

A manicured hand on his wrist stopped Cyrus in his tracks only a few yards down the hallway. Behind them, he could still hear Andi and Buffy bickering, though they had moved on to arguing about furniture.

“Yes, Amber?” He didn’t need to turn around to know who was keeping him from his goal—he didn't enjoy the cold tone that had seeped into his voice, but just wanted to disappear.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, yanking his wrist out of the blonde’s grasp. Even as Amber stepped around to be in front of him, the younger teen didn’t take his eyes off the floor.

“Ignoring that you’re obviously lying...” on the edge of his vision he could tell Amber was crossing her arms over her chest. “So, is TJ that guy I saw you with on Friday?”

Annoyingly curious and annoyingly stubborn—that was Amber in a nutshell. He used to be able to appreciate that. It had saved him once. But now it was just annoying.

“Can you just drop it? Please? I don’t get why this has captured your interest so much.” In his frustration, Cyrus finally looked up to meet Amber’s eyes, but as her friendly curiosity shifted to a look of concern, he couldn’t stand holding her gaze. There was too much he didn’t want to answer, too much he didn’t want to face. Instead, he scoffed, playing up his aggravation with his roommate as he looked off to the side.

When his gaze landed on Iris—dragging a heavy-looking box of recyclables at the end of the hall—he immediately saw an opportunity to get Amber off his back.

“Iris! Hey!” Without giving Amber a chance to respond—knowing her, it would have only been more persistent questioning—Cyrus shouldered past the blonde and jogged to the flustered looking girl a few yards away.

“Cyrus? What are you—” 

It was hard to tell who was more surprised as Cyrus leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips—Iris, Amber, or the boy himself—but it seemed like the best course of action at the time. And, surprisingly, it seemed to work. As he pulled back, he watched Iris’s face morph from shock to joy in the instant before she pulled him in for another, slightly more energetic kiss.

“How was your day?” the younger teen asked, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach as Iris looked at him sweetly.

“Better now.” The older girl’s voice was soft, lacking the barbs of frustration that had appeared the last time the talked. “Cy, I want to apologize for yesterday, I know you don’t—”

“No, wait, I should...” a quick glance over he shoulder showed that Amber was still standing there, watching with a thinly veiled look of surprise. “You were right, Iris. And, yeah. We should go out on Friday.”

“Really?” Iris grinned, her excitement obvious as she began to bounce with the excess energy. In the back of his mind, Cyrus found himself wishing he could actually appreciate the only person who apparently wanted to spend time with him. It was unfortunate that she was... yeah. “You’re not busy with your friends?”

“Nothing,” Cyrus raised his voice loud enough to ensure Amber could hear him, “is more important than going on a date with you.”

“Oh! Cyrus, that’s... oh shoot! This is really bad timing—I really have to get going. But I’ll text you when I get home, yeah? We can make plans.”

“Yes. But—actually, two seconds before you go,” Cyrus wrapped his arm around Iris’s waist as he turned to face his over-curious roommate. “Amber, have you had the pleasure of meeting Iris? My girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend?” Amber asked, faux-excitement dripping from every syllable as she smiled at the two of them.

“Yup,” Cyrus forced a satisfied grin onto his face, even if the words felt wrong on his tongue. As he nodded, Iris leaned happily against him—they still hadn’t officially discussed titles but it was obvious she was happy to have him take the lead on that.

And it wasn’t technically a lie.

“My girlfriend.”

**_Thursday, 3:17 PM_ **

“You know, you really don’t have to wait for me outside of class.”

Iris rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the wall of lockers, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

“What? You think you’re the only romantic in this relationship? Please. It’s called being cute, Goodman.” With a few quick strides, Iris was in front of him, leaning in for a flurry of quick kisses for the end of the school day. “Besides, I have a study hall last period.”

“That’s lucky,” Cyrus grinned. “You know, I’ve actually never had a study hall.”

“Seriously? How do you even survive? They give us so much work—especially in AP’s!”

“I dunno, maybe I’m just efficient?” Cyrus shrugged. “Besides, I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”

“Mmm. You and Maria must have the same sort of... weird-ass brain. Let me guess, you never have to study, either?” 

Cyrus shook his head, laughing at the absurdity of that possibility—if anything, he tended to study too much. At least, he used to.

“Yeah... no.”

“Whoops, speak of the devil...” Iris looked down at her phone as the two of them started walking towards the exit of the school. “Oh boo, she’s asking if I want to work on our Calculus homework with her.”

“What’s ‘boo’ about that?” Cyrus asked, shifting his bag to the other shoulder. “I would kill to have a friend offer to help me with Calculus. My friends haven’t made it past Algebra II yet.”

As they slowly walked towards the stairs, the tidal wave of students rushing to escape from the school rapidly lessened to a stream, and then a trickle, until a final mass of boisterous freshman boys nearly shoved Cyrus against the wall on their way out—and then they were mostly alone on the second floor.

It was crazy how fast the school could empty out.

“It’s ‘boo,’” Iris explained, frowning at her phone, “because I’ve been asking for her help all week, and she’s only offering now because she knows I’m with you.”

“Wait. Really?”

“Yeah,” Iris sighed, screwing her lips into a frustrated grimace. “I think she’s jealous.”

“Of us?” Cyrus asked, incredulous. The idea made no sense in his mind—why would anyone be jealous of anything involving him?

“Yeah... I feel sort of bad, JB broke up with her at the end of the summer and now no one...” 

Cyrus looked up as Iris hesitated, trying to discern what had caught her attention. He didn’t expect to see blond hair partially obscured by a well-worn hoodie heading straight towards them. And he didn't expect to watch TJ stop, hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets, and he started to greet them.

“Hey...”

TJ’s voice sounded as worn down as the dark gray jacket he wore every day. Even as his approach, the hand raised in a small wave of greeting, looked exhausted.

“Hi, TJ!” Iris gave the older teen an abbreviated wave, her chipper voice sounding extra loud compared to the older teen’s muted greeting.

TJ looked uncomfortable, like he knew he was intruding on something. There was an unfamiliar awkwardness in the way he was standing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his eyes focused on Cyrus. Only on Cyrus. He looked off-balance, with dark circled painted under his eyes and hair unstyled. And more importantly—and more notably—there wasn’t a trace of his characteristic smile. 

It felt wrong, seeing TJ’s face without that eye-crinkling, teeth-baring, soul-warming smile. It sent the butterflies whirling the wrong way round in Cyrus's stomach.

“Hey, uh...” not looking away from Cyrus, TJ nodded in response to Iris. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

As TJ made it clear that he was there for him—not for _them_ —Cyrus felt his throat go dry. He wanted to nod, God did he want to go somewhere and talk to TJ in private. But he couldn’t stop thinking about how incredibly stupid he’d felt, letting himself get excited to see TJ the previous day and then being left out to dry. It was a fire in his chest, a justifiable anger he wasn't ready to give up yet. He didn't want to repeat that embarrassment. His desire to turn around and walk away was almost as strong as his desire to pull TJ into a private corner and ask what had happened.

Stuck between two his urges, Cyrus decided on a middle ground. Doing his best to adopt a disinterested glare, the younger teen wrapped his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder—a part of him hoped that gesture would carry some weight for the older teen—and nodded.

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

TJ's eyes finally looked to Iris, jumping back and forth between her and the boy holding her to his side for a second before he gave an almost imperceptible nod. 

"Right. Okay, I um... I wanted to apologize for yesterday." His words were steady, but there was a sadness behind his voice. Even as Cyrus tried stubbornly to hold his gaze, the older boy's eyes kept flitting to the ground. "I really wanted to come, but I had a... I was struggling with something."

"Nothing too serious, I hope," Cyrus was surprised as Iris responded to the older teen's cryptic words with sincere empathy. The previous night, he had—in a potentially ill-advised move—spilled his frustrations about TJ ditching him over the phone. With some key factors removed, of course. He needed to get it off his chest, and Iris had let him feel justified in his anger.

He felt sort of cheapened to see her extend the same kindness to the very source of his pain.

"No—No, it's fine now," TJ assured, looking thankful for Iris's kind words even as he kept his focus on Cyrus. "But I still want to apologize. So as a peace offering... do you want to come to my place tomorrow? Drinks are on me." The smile TJ offered was so different from his normal smile—so lacking in that usual joyful energy—that seeing it made Cyrus's chest grow tight. "I'll even let you pick the music."

Cyrus never wanted so badly to accept an invitation, but he refused to let that eagerness show. He kept his cool, offering TJ an empty smile of his own.

"Oh, I'm sorry TJ," Iris responded as if the question hadn't obviously been directed at only Cyrus. Or maybe he’d been mistaken—maybe it was supposed to be for both of them. "We've actually got a date planned tomorrow. I don't think we can—unless!"

TJ took a half step back as Iris began suddenly bouncing with excitement, the Senior girl bubbling with energy as she eagerly shook off her boyfriend's arm to reach forward and grab TJ by the hand.

"Unless we make it a double date!" Iris began shaking TJ's hand up and down, completely unaware of how out of place her sudden burst of energy felt to the two boys. "I met your girlfriend at the party last week—she seems really cool! Kira, right? Would she want to do that?"

"Uh..." TJ's eyes jumped from Iris's pleading face to Cyrus's mask of confusion, until the overly-excited girl's bouncing knocked him off balance. "Yeah. Yeah, she'd be down."

"Awesome! I've always wanted to go on a double date!" Iris released the still-confused blond, hopping back over to pull Cyrus into a side-hug. "We can still do it at your place, yeah? You did say beers were on you!"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." TJ sounded more surprised and confused every passing second.

"Cool! Friday night it is!"

"Right. Well," TJ turned to Cyrus who was still standing in confused silence, "see you then."

As the older boy shifted his bag on his shoulder and walked away, Cyrus couldn't stop watching him—waiting for him to turn around, say never mind, or maybe just sprint away. That was not how he'd expected that conversation to go. An apology, maybe, but he had started to prepare himself for TJ to just tell him he was abandoning the mural. He expected the taller teen to try to establish some boundaries. He expected more abandonment. Not... whatever that was. Because if TJ was telling the truth, and he really didn't want to ditch Cyrus, and he really wanted to keep being friends—and it was just friends, right?—then... that just made the younger boy even more confused. 

He was ready to deal with being left behind.

This—he continued to watch TJ's retreating back, even as Iris pulled him into an excited kiss—was not something he knew to handle.

**_Friday, 7:45 PM_ **

"Oh my god, I love that show!" 

Iris's voice echoed through the small—surprisingly clean, given the last time Cyrus had seen it—apartment as she took another sip of her beer. Next to her, on the large couch that he and TJ had lazed on for hours previously, Cyrus was quietly nursing his drink and doing his best to passively observe the scene playing out in front of him.

Awkward. That's the word Cyrus would use to describe their little gettogether—not that Iris seemed to be bothered in the least. Since they'd arrived a bit after seven, Iris had been selflessly leading the conversation, relying mostly upon the occasional comment from Kira to keep going as she bravely kept all four of them from falling into an awkward silence. And for that, Cyrus was grateful. He'd said a few things, mostly when specifically called on by Iris to give an opinion or corroborate her retelling of the first time they'd met. And Kira seemed entertained by her energetic ranting. But TJ... TJ was another story. The older teen had been almost completely silent the entire night. Occasionally he'd stand from his chair to grab someone another beer, or some water, or to refill the bowl of chips, but outside of that, it was almost like he wasn’t really there. Barely doing anything except occasionally catching Cyrus's eye in order to give him... some kind of look.

And definitely not smiling.

Cyrus couldn't stop asking himself when this whole evening was going to fall apart.

"I swear I binged all four seasons in like... two weeks!"

"That's like..." Kira's eyes looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds before returning to meet Iris with a concerned stare. "fifty hours of TV. In two weeks? How is that... are you, like, okay?"

"What?" Iris smiled before draining what was left of her bottle. "Don't give me that look. Like you've never binged a show?"

"Well, if that’s what you call binging, then no. I haven't," Kira said, leaning back in her chair with a shrug. "Two or three episodes in a night, sure. But nothing like that. Don't have the time."

Watching TJ and Kira interact, as unusual as this whole evening had been, was perhaps what made Cyrus the most uncomfortable. As soon as the door to the apartment had opened, TJ had seemed to separate himself from his girlfriend. He was constantly shifting his chair, a few millimeters at a time, to be farther away from hers. He practically flinched when she reached out to touch his arm. And outside of when Kira directly addressed him, he barely even looked at her.

Cyrus watched as the older boy finished his beer as well and immediately pushed himself up from his chair without a word.

As he stood, Kira's eyes flitted to her boyfriend for just a second—and that was what made the whole night feel so weird. Because while TJ was acting like his girlfriend didn't exist, she was keeping a very close eye on him. It was all in small, almost unnoticeable instances, but once Cyrus really sat back to watch the two girls interact, it became obvious. Every time TJ moved—shifting in his chair, taking a sip from his beer, standing up to go to the bathroom—Kira was watching him. Just a quick shift of her eyes, often without even pausing what she was doing, and then back to focusing on what was in front of her a second later. But it was constant.

"You don't have time, or you don't make the time?" Iris asked, sounding very pleased with herself.

"Oh, um..."

"Because those are two very different things," Iris continued, leaning forward as she grew even more heated. Despite the well-cooled room, she had started to develop a bit of a blush on her cheeks as she espoused her almost-tipsy wisdom at the other couple. "I am a strong believer in taking time, putting it on your schedule just like anything else you need to do, and using to for yourself. Just for you! I happened to schedule fifty hours of Netflix binging over two weeks, but it was after two weeks where I had five tests and 2 essays due. It's about balance." She drew out the pronunciation of the last word, ending her diatribe with a satisfied smile.

"I’m not sure I can argue with that," Kira's eyes flitted to the side again as TJ returned with new beers for Iris and himself, staying on him even as she let out some light laughter. "I do like my ‘Me Time.’ I like this girl, Teej! Why wasn't I this smart when I was in high school?"

TJ just shrugged, settling into his chair and reaching for the bottle opener.

"Oh that's right, you go to UWS, right?" Iris asked, accepting the freshly opened beer from TJ with a grateful smile. "Did you meet TJ in high school? Or..."

"Actually in middle school, but yeah," Kira nodded, her eyes settling a bit longer than usual on TJ's newly opened bottle.

"Oh wow! Were you in the grade above him or something?"

"Oh no, we were in the same year," Kira relaxed even further into her chair, lifting one of her legs up as she slouched into the corner of the cushions. "TJ wasn't able to graduate last year."

For the first time all night, TJ turned away from staring at Cyrus to look at his girlfriend. Even from the side, Cyrus could see anger behind his eyes—it was as if the music had paused for just a second and the room fell silent as the blond glared at the girl next to him.

"Oh no, did something happen?" Iris asked, sounding concerned. 

The question left Cyrus astonished. Surprised enough to tear his eyes away from TJ to stare at his girlfriend. He couldn't imagine prying to something private like that. He couldn't imagine how TJ must have felt at that moment, all eyes on him as he took a second to take a large swig from his drink.

"I got sick," the other boy's voice was quiet, calm, but Cyrus could hear the aggravation in his words. "I missed a few months of school, more than they could legally let me get away with."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Iris's pushed on, words were filled with empathy. But from the look that flashed across TJ's face for just an instant, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. "What—"

"Can we talk about something else?" the blond's voice was louder, his tone less calm, and Kira's suddenly attention was focused entirely on him. Even as they all took a moment of silence to mentally correct course from what was clearly about to be a disaster, Kira's eyes never left her boyfriend.

In particular, they were focused on the beer in his hands.

"Maybe you've had enough, TJ."

"Maybe you've talked enough, Kira." TJ's response was immediate, almost as if he'd been holding it back for hours. Cyrus's attention jumped from one host to another as the couple both instantly shifted their mood. Immediately, Kira was straightening out, stiffening her spine and lifting her shoulders as she turned even more towards her boyfriend. TJ, on the other hand, appeared somehow more relaxed that he had been all night.

Iris sat stunned silent, frozen on the couch beside him, and Cyrus tended to agree with her response.

"I was just saying it for your own good," Kira's voice was slow, deliberate as she set her beer down on the coffee table. Almost as if she was trying to set an example.

"You always say it for my own good," there was almost a laughter behind TJ's words, but it was angrier than that. "What, you think I need you monitoring me? I may have dyscalculia and no diploma but I can still count, thanks. This is only my second beer."

Cyrus hadn't been paying enough attention to know if that was true, but he was aware enough to know that whatever was happening wasn't really about the beer.

As if to prove his point further, TJ took another swig of his drink and turned away from Kira. It seemed to take a few seconds before Kira was able to react—for a second Cyrus thought she was about to reach out and slap the boy in the other chair, but once she had composed herself enough to stop gaping at TJ's words she stood in a huff and immediately stomped into one of the bedrooms. The sound of the door slamming made the two teens on the couch flinch, but TJ seemed worryingly unbothered.

A few seconds later, Iris—distraught, angry, and completely unsure what do—followed her lead.

As soon as the two boys were alone, it was like a switch flipped somewhere inside TJ. His shoulders dropped, his muscles seemed to relax, even his eyes lost the cold, hard edge that had been there all night. The older teen sighed, setting his unfinished beer on the table and shaking his head before finally looking up to meet Cyrus's stare.

"I'm sorry, you... I shouldn't have done that while you were here."

Cyrus did the only thing that made sense in his brain: he stayed quiet. His only response was a soft nod before he dropped his eyes to the table, to TJ's fingers nervously picking at his own nails. The boy in front of him was so different from the one he was used to seeing wear that hoodie. He looked tired, he looked nervous and unsure of himself. And his words had been so... angry.

"I just imagined tonight going differently. Sorry."

"What, um... what did you expect?" Cyrus finally broke his silence, his words called out by the broken tone in the other boy's soft voice.

"I don't know," TJ looked off to the side, looked... ashamed, almost. "More like what we talked about. I thought it would just be us. Just the two of us."

Cyrus desperately wanted to look TJ in the eye, but he was scared of what he might see. Scared he might learn what the other boy meant by those words.

"Didn't you?"

Cyrus wanted to say that hadn't let himself think about it too much—except that was patently false. He'd thought about his next chance to be alone with TJ almost every day for the past two weeks. And he hated himself for doing it. Every time he caught himself imagining being in that apartment, lounging on that couch, moving slowly closer to each other with every song that played—he would force himself to stop, force himself to shake the images out of his head until his brain was throbbing from the abuse. Then his imagination had morphed itself into the image of the common room, the two of them in painters smocks, all alone, the door closed, and—again, he would scold himself. Force himself to say no.

"Yeah," he heard himself admitting the truth as his head began to nod. "Yeah, I did."

Immediately, TJ's mood seemed to lighten. His hands stopped picking at themselves as he glanced around the empty apartment. Cyrus tried to follow his eyes, tried to see what TJ was looking at, but then the older boy was leaning forward with a conspiratorial almost-smile gracing his lips, and he found himself unable to look anywhere but his face.

"Let's get out of here."

"What? Now?" Cyrus turned to look at the bedroom door, still firmly closed, still—almost definitely—with their two girlfriends behind it. 

"Yeah. While they're not here to stop us. Let's go. Just us."

"Go where?" Cyrus could feel the butterflies in his stomach grow in intensity, especially as TJ's almost-smile was replaced with a half-smile. He just couldn't look away from that face.

"You'll see."

For reasons he didn’t want to give names to, Cyrus was unable to resist the smile tugging at his lips as he watched the older teen transition into a full devilish smile. The eager glint behind those eyes just made him more excited. It was a completely one-eighty from the boy he'd been sitting across from for the past forty minutes. The warmth that had been missing was back with a vengeance, and Cyrus could feel it burning away his anxiety.

He would follow that warmth wherever it wanted him to.

And as the two of the tiptoed out of the apartment—TJ grabbing something from the cabinet as quietly as possible, closing the door with barely a click, running to the elevator without a peep—Cyrus could barely hold back his laughter.

**_Friday, 8:27 PM_ **

The second their feet hit the pavement, it was like the anxiety and awkwardness of the apartment had been washed away by the humid night's air. It wasn't long before TJ was egging him along, encouraging Cyrus to chase after him with laughter and earth-shattering smiles as he ran towards whatever destination he had in mind. The streets were surprisingly quiet, dead enough that TJ felt comfortable running in the bike lane beside the parked cars as they went... somewhere.

Somewhere away from that apartment, and the girlfriends inside it.

Somewhere together.

“Wait, what are you doing,” Cyrus struggled to draw in enough breath as TJ led the two of them along a fence towards a wrought-iron gate. He recognized the street from the bus ride—they were outside the large park that ran through the Northwest corner of Shadyside—but he was surprised to find the bars of the gate held together with a heavy metal chain.

He had always just assumed the fence and gates were purely aesthetic.

“Going to the park,” the brightness in TJ’s words made Cyrus’s heart lift in his chest. There was only one problem.

“But—the gate,” Cyrus panted, leaning against the concrete pillar with his hand pressed into his side. “You may not know this about me, but I have athletic skills on par with a paralyzed earthworm.”

TJ gave the other boy an appraising look, a goofy smile still plastered on his lips even as he tried to catch his breath.

“And?”

“And so there’s no way I can get over that gate without getting injured.” Cyrus tore his eyes away from TJ’s face to look at the top of the fence. Those spikes looked sharp. And a little rusty.

“No worries,” TJ knelt down grabbing the padlock in one hand as he dug something out of his pocket with the other.

“What are you doing!”

The soft click of the lock popping open under the light of the streetlamp was all it took for TJ to look back at him with a satisfied smile on his face.

“Opening the way.”

With a smirk, the older boy turned back to the gate, holding up a shiny metal key with no other explanation.

“You coming?”

The park on the other side of the gate was famous for it’s running loop: a long, unbroken concrete sidewalk that went around a large lake and past dozens of playgrounds, hundred of benches, and a small handful of intricate fountains and statues. Even with the gates locked and the park empty, that path was well lit, with lamps every fifty feet that shone with a harsh, unnaturally white light.

But that wasn’t where TJ was leading them. As thunder began rumbling softly in the distance, TJ veered off the cement path. Hushed whispers and quiet laughter were all the answers Cyrus got as the older teen lead him onto the grass, then towards a wooded area, and finally—illuminated only by Cyrus’s phone light and a flashlight TJ pulled from his jacket pocket—what appeared to be a hiking path.

Cyrus couldn't escape the morbid thought of, ‘this would be a really great place to kill me and hide the body...’

“Never walked through the woods before?” TJ asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen upon the two of them after Cyrus tripped over yet another tree root.

“Not in the dead of night," Cyrus winced, poking at his ankle to make sure he hadn't been injured in the fall. "No.”

“I think it’s better in the dark,” TJ murmured, reaching down to offer Cyrus a hand. “Feels more authentic.”

As he brushed the dust off his jeans, Cyrus took a moment to look away from the beam of the flashlight and take in the woods around him. It was dark, obviously, too dark to see more than a few feet away from them. But what he could make out against that terrifying inky blackness of the night was beautiful. The trees were tall in this part of the woods, growing naturally and haphazardly as they arched over the trail. Smaller, softer bushes and plants covered up the spaces on the ground, standing out against the blanket of dirt, stick, and leaves.

And it was loud—much louder than he expected. Not with the buzz of electricity or the blaring of cars—not like the rest of the city—but with the chirps and humming of bugs, and bats, and who knew what else.

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” It made Cyrus recall the last—and as far as he could remember, only—time his dad had taken him camping.

Another growl of thunder passed over them, still gentle but sounding a bit closer than the last one.

“Maybe we should have brought rain jackets. Or an umbrella. Not that I own either, now that I think about it.”

“We’ll be fine,” TJ laughed, light and confident in his own words. “You’ll be fine.”

As if to spite the warmth Cyrus felt growing in his chest, he felt his phone vibrate once—for an instant, he was terrified of a call from Iris—and then his light disappeared from the wooded floor.

“Shit, my battery.” The younger teen shook his phone as if that would somehow wake the machine. “Fuck, I really need to get a new phone, this one barely lasts two hours now. Shit, should we...”

Cyrus’s suggestion—should we turn back—died in his throat. He didn’t want to give TJ the chance to agree with it, anyway.

“No worries,” TJ flipped his flashlight up, illuminating his smile in the harsh light as he cast the rest of his face into shadow. “I’ll guide you.”

“You’ll guide me,” Cyrus grinned, adding sarcastic doubt to his voice as TJ flipped the light back to the path in front of them.

“That is what I said.”

“Then lead the way.”

“That’s the plan.”

Despite his words, TJ made no attempt to get moving, standing under one of the trees with a smile. Cyrus could feel the other boy watching him. And even as it made the butterflies in his chest go crazy, he felt his mind calming down.

“So do you come here a lot? Or is trespassing on public land a new thing for you?” Cyrus let himself bump his shoulder into the other teen as he restarted their trek.

“I'd say a lot. It’s sort of my favorite place in the city,” TJ explained, glancing up as another rumble of thunder echoed across the sky. “Don’t you feel how calm it is? How isolated?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus nodded looking at the trees above his head once again.

“It’s a haven here,” TJ continued, swinging the light around to various corners of the woods. “This is where I come when I want to feel alone.”

“You take people to where you go to be alone?” Cyrus teased, bumping into TJ’s shoulder again as the older teen directed them down a left turn and onto a much rougher path. "Sounds backwards."

“No,” TJ turned, the backglow from the flashlight reflecting off his grin. “Right now... no. I don’t normally take anyone here.”

There was hesitation as the older boy seemed to search for the right words, even pausing to turn and illuminate Cyrus for just a second.

“You’re the first.”

TJ did Cyrus a kindness by turning away and moving the light back down the trail—the darkness did an amazing job of hiding the younger teen’s blush. Which was good, because Cyrus could not get his heart to calm down, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that the other boy was just fucking with him.

“What about Kira?” The words came out a little bit crackly, but Cyrus was able to mask it with a cough.

“You’re the first,” TJ repeated.

The silence that fell was heavy with words unsaid and questions not asked. There was a sense of honor, of pride, coursing through Cyrus’s chest as he fell into step beside the taller teen, but also—as always—so much confusion.

He couldn’t make sense of it—even if TJ was apologetic, he’d still left him hanging just two days prior, without so much as a ‘can’t make it’ text to soften the blow. Yet here he was, dragging Cyrus along to his secret place and acting as if his mysterious reasoning was obvious.

He had a girlfriend—he’d made an obvious effort to let Cyrus see the two of them make out at the party—but she wasn’t here.

They both had girlfriends! And they’d both left them behind so that they could be alone.

Together.

It should have been simple. But as TJ directed them off the path and into a thicket of trees, the whole night felt anything but simple. And when Cyrus’s head grew warm and fuzzy after TJ grabbed his elbow to help him over a fallen log, it felt anything but simple. And when TJ pushed aside a branch and turned his flashlight onto their final destination, it felt anything but simple. Cyrus's moral compass was spinning in circles, telling him to run back to TJ's apartment, telling him to run away to his own apartment, telling him to run to TJ's arms. It was confusing and annoying, and painful to think about.

So Cyrus swallowed down the lump in his throat, took a deep breath, and gave up on trying to make it simple. He was just going to let whatever this was... happen.

“What the... is that?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus could hear the smile under TJ’s voice, even as more thunder threatened to drown him out. “We’re here.”

‘Here’ was a clearing in the woods, about fifty feet wide, ringed with trees and bushes and blanketed by leaves—except in the center, where a simple, large, corrugated-metal-roofed structure stood about twenty feet tall. It had no floor, no walls, only thick wooden poles at each corner, dark and notched in some places—like someone had taken a hatchet to them and gave up when the wood refused to yield.

That was weird enough—finding a structure like that in the middle of the woods brought back the ‘he’s about to murder me’ fears—but what left Cyrus truly confused was what was under that roof. On one side of the structure was what looked a simple jungle gym, dull metal bars forming a dome above the dirt, and on the other side was a swingset.

Which TJ was making a bee-line for.

“Come on!” the older boy shouted, spinning around and jogging backward. “Seriously! Swing with me!”

A drop of rain landed on Cyrus’s cheek, snapping him out of his stunned shock just as TJ reached the edge of the structure’s darkness. Another drop landed, this one hitting him right above the eye with a surprisingly cold shock of water. It felt good, wiping away some of the sweat that had accumulated on his brow during the humid hike, but not so good that he wanted to experience what it would feel like to be drenched in it.

TJ’s flashlight led the way.

Before he knew what he was doing, Cyrus was standing on the edge of the darkness, hesitating just a moment as a few more drops landed on his arm, his shoulder, his neck. And then TJ was in front of him again, an amused smile in response to Cyrus's mask of confusion, flashlight hanging down from his wrist as he reached out and grabbed Cyrus's arm, pulling him inside.

"See? Nothing to worry about," TJ's hand was firm on the younger boy's wrist as he tugged him over to the swings, like a child desperate to have their parents give him a push. 

Cyrus had never been a huge fan of being pushed on the swings. He preferred being in control of his own momentum.

"I, uh... woah—okay," wasting no time, TJ shoved the younger boy towards a swing before quickly falling into the one beside it. These swings were old, the rubber seat stiff and cracked along the edges, the chain bared to the world and rough under Cyrus's fingers. His instincts did not trust the structure to actually hold his weight, much less support him and TJ attempting to use it for its intended purpose. But as TJ fell onto his own rubber seat and started pumping gently back and forth, he looked up at Cyrus with so much unabashed happiness that he couldn't find it in his heart to refuse.

That seemed to be a problem of his, as of late.

"This place," TJ began once Cyrus had carefully lowered himself onto the swing beside him. "This is my home." As he spoke, he swung the flashlight up to point at the metal ceiling above them. The rain could be heard, now, pinging against the roof as it fell, a couple hits every second. It was an interesting sound—and it made him realized that he was either going to get soaked going home or be stuck on those swings for a few hours. When Cyrus looked up to see where TJ was pointing the light, he couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his throat.

"Woah..."

The underside of the metal above them was covered in graffiti. Signatures, gang names, a couple wonky faces—most of them were years old but some looked recent, like the two teens might have just missed the vandals as they left their marks—there wasn't a single square inch that didn't have at least one layer of paint on it. In the center, above the gap between the dome and the swings, a large swath of the ceiling was taken up by a single image. A depiction of an angel—a real biblical angel, cloaked in wings and wreathed in fire—caught Cyrus's attention and held his gaze. Where other pieces of graffiti appeared to have been painted over dozens of times, the angel looked almost untouched. As if it was truly holy space. Even TJ seemed entranced by it, letting his light linger over the figure much longer than anywhere else on the ceiling. Enough time for Cyrus to read the quote emblazoned on the figure's sword.

"'Be not afraid...'"

"Do you like it?" TJ's voice was quiet—the joy was still there, but it was contained. Like the space had somehow calmed him down.

"Do I... TJ, did you paint that?" Even though he was cloaked in darkness, just a pool of light at his feet from the flashlight, Cyrus pointed up at the ceiling. At the angel, in particular. 

"Fuck, I wish," the older teen chuckled. "I could never get my shit together enough to drag paint and a ladder out here. But no, I meant... this. The place. Do you like it?"

"Oh, I mean... absolutely!" Cyrus nodded, though he wasn't sure if TJ could tell. As much as this darkness was plucking at his anxiety, it was mostly just annoying. "Yeah, I just—thank you for taking me here."

"Hmm," TJ hummed, a smug look on his face. "Do you actually like it," the light started moving back and forth, tracing a longer and longer line as Cyrus heard the other boy exerting himself on the swing beside him. "Or are you just saying that so that I'll take you away from here faster?"

"What—no! Why would I do that?" 

"I dunno. Maybe because you're scared?" TJ's voice swept past his ear, just the faintest glow from the floor bouncing back to illuminate his smiling face.

"Scared? No, I—no! I'm not scared." Cyrus wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge what TJ was trying to imply.

"Not scared, huh?"

"Not at all," Cyrus insisted, squeezing the rough chains in his fists as TJ's laugh swept by again. "Why would I be scared?"

The other boy didn't respond at first, just kept pushing himself higher and higher on the swing, while, beside him, Cyrus remained perfectly happy using his swing as nothing more than a rather uncomfortable chair. The rain was starting to get harder, and the echoing sound of water hitting the metal roof began to fill the structure.

"Not scared?" TJ repeated, voice raised slightly to be heard above the rain. It was less of a question this time, but not quite a statement.

"What would I be scared of?" Cyrus asked again.

"This."

Just as the beam of the flashlight was reaching the end of its arc, a peal of thunder reverberated through the structure, shaking the air inside Cyrus's lungs—and at that exact moment, the light went out.

Cyrus heard a thump a few feet away, and then nothing—silence was the wrong term, because the roar of the storm beating on the roof of the structure was loud enough to cover the sound of the wind and wildlife around them, but he couldn't hear TJ at all. With his eyes still adjusted for the flashlight, Cyrus was completely blind, too. It was like he was sitting in a pool of darkness; he could see the rain falling from the edge of the roof a few feet away but everything immediately within his reach was cloaked in shadow. 

"TJ?" It took only a few seconds of no response for Cyrus's heart rate to spike. For his throat to grow tight. No matter where he looked, as he swung his head around in a desperate attempt to find the other teen, there was only darkness. "TJ, where are you?" 

He was never so thankful to hear bubbling laughter as when TJ clicked on his flashlight a few feet behind him. 

"You're an asshole," Cyrus strained to keep his voice even, which only made TJ laugh even harder. Even as his heart struggled to settle down, Cyrus couldn't hold back his smile—though whether it was from relief or just from being around the other teen, he wasn't sure. "Honestly, truly you are."

"Yeah. Maybe. Still not scared?" TJ asked, shining the light up so that his face and his smile were fully illuminated.

"Of course not," Cyrus lied, shaking his head at the other boy. 

"Because you look a little scared," TJ's laughter died down as he took a few steps closer. Cyrus tried to turn his swing around to face the other teen, but the dirt beneath his feet was slick and loose and every time he twisted the chains he just ended swinging back around against his will. "But maybe it wasn't the dark, hmm?" the brunet froze as he heard the other teen's voice, just over his shoulder.

"I'm not afraid of the dark."

"Yeah? What about..." Cyrus felt his balance shift and instantly he was clinging to the rugged chains for dear life. A shout of surprise escaped his throat as he felt the older teen's hands grip his waist only to pull him backward with a sudden jerk. Then before he could get out a proper complaint, TJ was sprinting forward, pushing the smaller boy's body as he went, then letting him go with a final shove to swing up much higher than Cyrus was used to.

"Underdog!"

And then the light was out again, and Cyrus was hurtling through the darkness on his swing and that was not what he signed up for. As soon as his feet, dragging along the dirt, had slowed him to enough to keep him on the ground, he leapt away from the swing with a quiet promise to never touch the thing again.

"Fuck! Seriously, TJ? Come on!" Cyrus shouted at the darkness. He could hear laughter behind him, somewhere near the center of the structure, but the light stayed off. He could still feel his heart beating like mad in his chest as he spun around again. "Alright. Okay, I... I may be a little bit scared, okay?"

Immediately, the light clicked back on, and TJ was in front of him, that devilish smile on his face, and not an ounce of guilt in his eyes. And Cyrus was annoyed by that. But not so annoyed as to fight off the smile that crept onto his lips as the older teen stepped even closer.

"That was the last time," TJ's voice was quiet, just barely audible above the crashing rain, which stopped being a problem as he immediately took another step closer. So close, that he had to noticeably bend his head to meet the shorter teen's eyes. Still, he kept the flashlight held against his chest, using it's light to illuminate both their faces—both their smiles.

"Promise?" the question pushed itself out of Cyrus's throat before he gave it permission, and then TJ was too close for any more words. Though there were still a few inches of air between them, Cyrus could almost feel the other boy as he hovered, just barely not touching him. He could feel it in his gut, as the fluttering, floating feeling lurched pleasantly inside him every time TJ swayed a little bit closer. He could feel it in his chest as his heart seemed unable to decide if it wanted to speed up or slow down. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, especially when TJ's smile grew less intense, and his eyes began to fill with questions that Cyrus didn't know if he was ready to answer.

No, scratch that. Not questions.

Question. Just one.

_Can I..._

TJ's lips didn't move, but Cyrus could still hear the unspoken request in his voice as the taller teen bent down even further, holding his stare, looking at him with so much passion in his eyes—just a few millimeters closer, as their noses almost brushed, and Cyrus felt his lips part just a fraction as he tilted his head back, and—

The light clicked out—for a second Cyrus thought maybe he hadn't realized he'd closed his eyes—and as the younger teen reached out his hands met only empty darkness. He couldn't help the sigh of laughter that escaped as the tension crashed around him, leaving him flustered and confused and still so ridiculously excited for...

It only took a few seconds for him to find TJ again. This time, not because of the flashlight clicking on. This time, it was the faint, gentle light of the moon in the storm that illuminated the other teen. TJ was standing a few feet outside of the safety of the corrugated roof, already drenched, judging by the way his hair was plastered to his head. It was difficult to see clearly in the darkness—his eyes were still constricted from the flashlight—but he could just make out TJ's face, just see the way it was serious and then half-smiling and then licking away the water collecting on his lips. And even rain-drenched and nervous and probably a little uncomfortable, TJ looked like a beacon to him. He looked like warmth. He looked—Cyrus finally allowed himself to think it—absolutely gorgeous. 

For once, there were no questions in the mind of Cyrus Goodman as he took a few tentative steps towards the other boy. The half-smile on TJ's face grew a bigger as the younger boy stepped closer, finally reaching eye-crinkling levels as Cyrus stopped just at the edge of the rain.

There was no way Cyrus could resist that smile.

"What?" Despite his obvious antsiness, TJ's voice was calm and confident as he addressed the younger teen. "Are you afraid of the rain too?"

Cyrus chewed on his bottom lip to fight off his smile.

In most circumstance, Cyrus did not appreciate being taunted into accomplishing a task. In elementary school, when other kids teased him for sitting out a day of playing tag, he'd stubbornly refused to join their game for the rest of the year. When Jonah, at age eleven, had teased his unwillingness to climb a tree, a young Cyrus Goodman had simply picked up his book and walked home, unknowingly leaving Jonah stuck in that tree for hours until a neighbor had walked by.

And when TJ, on that wild, crazy night, teased Cyrus's reluctance to walk out into the rain, Cyrus almost decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and turn around to go sit on the jungle gym. 

And he would have done it, too, if TJ hadn't reached out, one hand offered up through the curtain of rain falling from the edge of the roof. Or maybe it was the smile—that damned smile that made Cyrus feel like TJ was the truest source of light he had ever seen in the world. Or maybe it was that feeling, deep down in his gut, that if he gave in just this once, placed his hand in TJ's and stepped out into the downpour, he would finally get what he had always wanted.

So that's exactly what he did.

And that was exactly what he got.

The rain had barely touched his face before TJ tugged him forward—or maybe he'd lunged toward the other boy of his own accord—and just like that, they were kissing with the fervor and passion of sixteen years of pent up repression released in a single instant. The force of their collision—lips on lips, tongue against tongue—was bruising, enough to knock the breath out of Cyrus the second they connected. Or maybe that was just what he was feeling—adrenaline coursing through his body, blood pounding in his ears as a shiver ran down his spine, so powerful that he thought he might collapse into the mud at his feet.

TJ's hands were tangled in his hair in an instant, pulling him even closer, even harder against his lips as the rain soaked his shirt and shoes and pants and everything. Cyrus had half a second to entertain the absurdity of the idea that he TJ thought he might pull away from this before he felt the older boy's tongue slip between his lips, and all coherent thought was lost to instinct. Instinct like threading his own fingers through TJ's rain-drenched hair, like pressing back with his tongue even as a moan began to well up in his chest, like reaching down and grabbing TJ around the waist, pulling their bodies together for an instant of pressure that sent fireworks off all across his skin.

Then the kiss softened, and Cyrus began to worry that TJ had had his fill, but as the younger boy opened his eyes, he was met with joy and passion and _so much smiling_ that he knew that fear would never come true. It was only a second's breath before TJ was diving back down, pulling him in as he alternated between hard, bruising, soul-shaking kisses, and light, nipping, playful pecks while he held Cyrus to him like his life depended on it.

All the hormones, and emotions, and sensations—the cooling effect of the rain could never keep up with the celebration raging inside his own body. Eventually, he couldn't hold it in anymore, a soulful laugh bubbling out of his lips as TJ retreated for another breath—a 'head tipped back in the rain, mouth open, full-body' laugh. And then TJ was laughing too, hands at the back of Cyrus's neck, laughing as he pressed their foreheads together, laughing and kissing and smiling and laughing again as they held each other.

Laughing and kissing and hugging and touching and groping and...

After a life of disappointments—disappointing parents, disappointing girls, disappointing kisses—Cyrus was struggling to contain the joy of feeling, for the first time in a long time, fulfilled.

So he didn't. He let it out. He relished in it. And he laughed and he kissed and he groped and he hugged and he touched.

And he swore to himself, as TJ pressed a kiss to his forehead and hugged him to that chest—he promised himself in that clearing, in those woods, in that storm, as he could hear the other boy's rapidly beating heart—that he was never going to back to disappointment again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this took two weeks to write this time, yes it's incredibly long, but I hope you agree... I think it was worth it. I've been looking forward to this chapter since I started this story...


	5. At the Same Time in Another Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actions have consequences. Words have consequences. Will the choices TJ and Cyrus make bring them closer together or drive them apart?

**_Saturday, 9:17 AM_ **

Cyrus always considered himself a light sleeper.

In his distant fantasies of a future life, he had always feared that any attempt to share a bed with a partner—amorous or otherwise—would end in disaster.

But as his eyes cracked open that morning, a beam of sunlight washing over him as he woke to the feeling of another body pressed against his for the first time in his life, it didn’t take long for him to decide that he liked it. He liked it a lot. 

Even if it was no longer setting off fireworks, the sensation of having TJ pressed against his body was electric; a pleasant tickling on his shoulder, his knee, his chest—everywhere the other boy’s wild limbs were pressed against him. It sent a shiver down his spine when he thought about it. He was warm, and comfortable, and happy, and when TJ's eyes slowly fluttered open and the older teen's lips immediately curled into a heart-rending smile, Cyrus never wanted it to end.

He knew that, at some point, they must have sprinted through the rain, must have found their way to a bus stop and made their way to his apartment. There must have been a moment in there when they calmed down enough to sit quietly on a mostly empty bus, a moment where he’d shakily unlocked the apartment door, a moment where they’d silently snuck into his room and awkwardly changed into some dry sleeping clothes. But he doesn't remember any of that. All he could recall was the way his heart stuttered as TJ stole kisses from his lips every few seconds like he couldn't help himself. The way laughter bubbled out of his lungs when TJ got impatient waiting for that final bus and pressed him up against the wall of the shelter to nip and bite and suck at his neck. The way his chest continued to flutter even as TJ's kisses had become gentler once their heads hit the pillows, until, with a final press of swollen lips to his forehead, Cyrus felt the tug of exhaustion pulling at his entire soul too powerfully to resist.

He wanted to remember all of it. Forever.

But as TJ sleepily pushed himself up on one elbow—Cyrus's shirt, too short on his long torso, riding up to reveal a pale strip of skin above the band of his borrowed briefs—and looked down at the younger teen with that smile on his swollen, still-red lips, Cyrus decided he didn’t really care about the things he couldn’t seem to recall.

All he cared about was twisting his hand into the front of the blond's shirt, tangling their bare legs together, and picking up from where they’d left off the night before.

He wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted—sleepy and gentle, but no less passionate—before their silence was broken by TJ's whisper. By his laugh. And then a pattern established itself: questions they probably should have asked each other long before exchanged between kisses which sometimes felt so stunning that Cyrus immediately forgot what the older teen had just told him.

"What's your favorite food?"

His nana's kugel. Donuts from a bakery down the street from TJ's childhood home.

"When's your birthday?"

Spring for Cyrus, early summer for TJ—the exact date slipped from his mind seconds after hearing it, but that's what Facebook was for, right?

"What do you want to do when you're older?"

Cyrus had always planned on becoming a doctor, but he wasn’t so sure anymore—he was surprised to find that admitting it felt good. Surprised how relieving it was to share that with someone. To share it with TJ, who smiled and nodded and brushed a loose piece of hair behind his ear. TJ wanted to work with kids or make beautiful things for others to enjoy. Neither of them felt very bad about being undecided.

Other questions—what is this to you; what are we now; are we horrible people?—remained unasked, too heavy for such a pleasant morning.

An especially breath-taking kiss ended with TJ's fingers still tickling under the back of Cyrus’s shirt while the younger teen’s thumb tried to rediscover the point on TJ's hip that made the older teen gasp so loudly.

"Am I your first?" TJ gently moved Cyrus’s hand onto his thigh as he took his turn to ask a question, his stormy eyes scanning Cyrus's face like he was desperate to memorize every centimeter.

"My first what?" 

"Your first guy."

For the first time all morning, Cyrus felt unsure about giving his answer. Because the answer was yes. And half of his brain was screaming that there was no other guy in the world that he'd want to be his first, but the other half was just as loud, wishing he hadn't spent the last four years denying himself this intense rush. It made his stomach twist. It made words difficult . Instead, the younger teen bit at his lip and smiled, staying quiet as TJ's eyes danced over his features. He wasn't sure what he wanted to communicate, but TJ's grin softened and the hand on his back somehow tugged him a fraction of an inch closer, and suddenly it stopped mattering.

"I'll take that as a yes then."

For an instant, Cyrus's heart stopped—what if TJ didn’t want to deal with a first-timer—but then the blond shuffled forward and pressed their foreheads together, and the fear vanished.

"What about you?" The younger teen's voice was barely more than a whisper—worried that if he tried to speak normally his voice might crack and squeak. Even if he felt confident that TJ's only response would be to laugh and pull him in for another kiss, he still preferred to avoid making it obvious how flustered he still felt.

TJ paused for a second, glancing down at his chest before looking back up and raising his eyebrows with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

"Okay..." Cyrus laughed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as TJ—eyes crinkled and teeth bared—began to laugh as well. Instead, he leaned forward for another kiss, melting into it as he decided that the older teen was too good at putting his hands in just the right places for Cyrus to be the first boy he'd touched like that.

At some point, the hand under his shirt reached down to tug at the hem and before he could process that, it was pulled over his head completely. TJ's borrowed shirt disappeared just as fast, which only meant more of that electric skin-on-skin feeling all over his chest. Even after they broke apart, and Cyrus rolled onto his stomach—because, without that, it was just too easy to go back to kissing, and he really needed to calm down—he could still feel the pleasant humming across his skin. TJ’s chin, prickly and rougher than he expected, was irritating his shoulder in the most glorious way.

And then TJ began to dance his fingers gently up and down his bare back, and it was all Cyrus could do not to moan.

"What did you think, the first time you saw me in the common room?" Cyrus asked, trying to decide how to admit to his immediate unconscious attraction without getting made fun of. The question had been sticking in his head for days—he’d never been too confident in his ability to make first impressions. Or second impressions. And he couldn’t help but wonder how TJ had felt about him, especially now that he had the other teen all to himself.

"I thought to myself..." TJ paused, pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck before settling back into the bed, "'that boy, right there? He's afraid of the dark.'"

"Oh fuck off," Cyrus's scoff was muffled by the pillow, his attempts to swat behind him only catching the edge of TJ's elbow. "I am not afraid of the dark. How would you react with some weird guy in the middle of the woods in complete darkness."

He felt TJ chuckle against his skin, then the older teen was cuddling himself even closer, throwing a leg over his so that their clothed hips were pressing together. 

“So I’m weird.”

“Very weird,” Cyrus insisted.

“Guess it’s a good thing we like weird, then.” The words were soft, and Cyrus knew exactly what TJ was referring to, and it made his heart flutter.

"But, no. The first time I saw you wasn't at the meeting." TJ's fingers danced up and began gently twisting the strands of Cyrus's hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, and another when the older boy hummed contentedly. 

“It wasn’t?”

"No. It was the first day of school. In the hall, right before first period. I didn't know anyone yet, and I walked past you and your friends."

"I didn't see you," Cyrus admitted. He wondered if things were any different in the universe where he did.

"No, but I saw you. I only saw you, actually." Another kiss to his shoulder, another shiver down his spine. "You were laughing, and you snorted really loud—"

"TJ!"

"—and because of that, I turned to look at you," the older boy continued, his voice pleasantly confident. "And everything else just faded away."

"Oh my God," the urge to roll his eyes at the sappiness was overpowered by the ear-to-ear smile that forced itself onto his face. "Are you always this dramatic?"

"You'll just have to find out."

Another kiss pressed into his shoulder, two more along his spine, and a fourth pressed into the back of his embarrassingly bad case of bed-head.

"So, what would you have done if I didn't go to that meeting? Or if I got a ride home with my friend like I was supposed to? Or if my bus wasn't late that day. Maybe we never would have met." Even as he was asking the question, Cyrus could feel his stomach twisting with muted anxiety. Or maybe he was just hungry. They never did get around to ordering that pizza the night before.

"I’ll admit," TJ's fingers returned to dancing around his back, and Cyrus decided that food could wait for as long as the other teen kept doing that, "that would suck."

Cyrus tried to imagine a world where he didn't have that content, joyful feeling bubbling away in his chest. Tj was right. It very much would have sucked.

"But it all worked out."

Cyrus heard a sigh, quiet and a surprisingly sad, come from behind him. TJ's fingers stopped, his hand trailing off the side of the smaller teen’s back before digging itself under to squeeze his chest. As much as he missed the tickling electricity along his spine, it felt good to have the older teen pull him closer.

"When I think about things like that... or when I have to make a decision," TJ started, his voice rough with something unspoken as he pulled Cyrus even tighter. "When it's a big one, and I know my life might change if I choose one thing over another, and there are two paths in front of me... I get scared. I end up taking one path because I have to make the choice, but..."

The urge to turn around began to grow in Cyrus's mind. He wanted to see TJ's face, watch his eyes as the older teen spoke. But he was so comfortable, and so content—and more importantly he didn't want to interrupt—that, instead, he settled himself even deeper into TJ's grip.

"I always worry about the path I didn't take, though. That's what scares me—I'll never know what could have happened. If I went to a different school; if I said yes instead of saying no; if my parents chose an apartment on a different bus line. It the not-knowing that drives me crazy."

Cyrus tried to show his understanding by sliding his hand up to interlace his fingers with TJ’s. He got that fear, he had felt it uncountably many times himself. There was a time in his life where the only thing he could think about were the what-ifs. 

What if he hadn't ignored his dad's instructions on their camping trip? What if he and Jonah had never met? What if he hadn’t listened to Amber’s advice?

What if he'd told the judge that he wanted to live with his dad instead of letting his mom convince him that she was the better option? Would he still be living with his family, instead of at the apartment? Would he have a better relationship with his parents? Would his dad have wanted to stay in his life? Or would that only have pushed his mom off the deep end even sooner—there were worse drugs she could have secretly stirred into his morning smoothies.

It was a lot. A lot of screwed up questions, each one a different way to ask himself if his screwed up life was his own fault. Eventually, they became too much. So he forced himself to change the way he thought; came up with a way to push the questions—and the anxiety that came with them—away.

"When I have to make a choice, I tell myself there are other Cyruses. In other parallel universes." Cyrus swallowed, trying not to think too hard about why he felt comfortable telling TJ so much about himself. Why he had no problem showing even the secret side of who he was—the things he'd never revealed to another person, not even Jonah or Amber. As TJ press a small line of kisses down his neck, he felt strangely confident that he wasn't making a mistake. "Other Cyruses who made the other choice. So, even if I don’t get to experience the other paths, there’s at least one Cyrus that does. Between all of us, we've tried, and done, and known everything that could have happened to us. I can wonder about them, but it doesn’t scare me."

A small smile flitted across his lips as he imagined the Cyrus that had refused TJ's offer to run away the previous night.

That poor fool.

"And what are these other Cyruses doing now?" TJ's voice was light, filled with friendly amusement as he nuzzled into Cyrus's back.

"Right now?"

"Mmm," TJ confirmed.

"Well, there's one who lives in DC, helping to take down corrupt government officials with a series of world-famous internet videos."

Cyrus could feel TJ's breathy laugh against his hair as the other teen gave him a little squeeze.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and there's a very strong, muscular Cyrus who started lifting weights at twelve, who's taking an early-morning inspiration picture for his Instagram followers."

"I don't think I would like that Cyrus very much," TJ's fingers began ghosting down his decidedly-not-muscular side, soft tickles making it difficult to pretend to be outraged. "I don't want to share this with anyone else."

"You're horrible," Cyrus struggled to hold down his bubbling laughter as the fingers at his sides began to quicken. "You're absolutely horrible."

"Maybe," with a sudden surge of strength, TJ's hands grasped the smaller teen’s sides and quickly flipped him around so that they were facing each other. Cyrus quite enjoyed being able to see his grin. "What else?"

"There's the Cyrus who learned to code when he was eight. He's signing a hundred-million-dollar contract to sell the app he built to Facebook."

"How do you know this business-genius Cyrus isn't standing at the top of a building," TJ's voice remained quiet and light as he pressed their foreheads together. "Ready to jump into the void because someone stole his idea, and he just went bankrupt?"

"That's dark!" Cyrus laughed, shifting a bit so that he could press a gentle kiss to TJ's chest as he nuzzled under the older boy's chin. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Eh...”

“Asshole.”

“I don't think I believe in parallel universes." There was no judgement in TJ's voice, only the faint remnants of laughter as he hugged Cyrus closer. "A little too ‘bad sci-fi movie’ for me."

"Well, you're wrong," Cyrus grinned, pushing against the other boy's waist so that he could escape his grip to lie on his back. "And I know you're wrong."

"And how do you know that?" TJ asked, resting his chin on Cyrus's chest and staring up at him, eyes wide and full of something that made Cyrus's heart leap. Made him feel like he didn’t need to censor his words of every scrap of emotional sentimentality. Made him feel confident enough to say something stupid.

"Because I know that even with all the possibilities, there are hundreds of other Cyruses and hundreds other TJ's who are together. Right now. Plus or minus a few articles of clothing."

"Plus or minus, huh?" TJ's grin flashed devilishly, and even after having spent the last hour with the other boy's tongue in his mouth, Cyrus felt himself blush.

"I said what I said."

"Well what do you think—" whatever TJ was about to ask was lost as a buzz rang out from the nightstand next to the bed. Then another. Then another. With a sigh, the older teen reached over to grab his phone, rubbing at his eyes as the bright light of his home screen came to life.

"Is that Kira?" Cyrus asked, trying to force himself to continue to ignore the guilt pooling in his stomach. Force himself not to think of Iris.

"Yeah." TJ sighed again, tossing his phone into the tangle of lilac sheets at the foot of the bed. "Apparently I'm ‘very dead,’ or so she says."

With a groan, the older boy lowered himself back down to rest his cheek on Cyrus's chest. The smaller teen tried to get a read on TJ's face, tried to see if He was also feeling the same twisting in his gut, but TJ just returned his stare with a smile.

"You know what?" The blond asked, closing his eyes and letting out a small hum. "Maybe you're right. TJ number 452 can go talk to her. Me? I'm staying right here."

"Yeah?" Cyrus asked, focusing on the smile sitting on the other boy's face, telling himself that worries about Iris, and Kira, and school, and friends could all wait. Forever, if he needed them to. Forever, if that was how long TJ wanted to stay in bed.

"Yeah."

"Well, Cyrus number 1 is very happy with that decision."

With a laugh, TJ leaned up to press a single soft kiss to the younger teen's lips before returning to rest his head on his chest. Cyrus's hand trailed up the strong back, settling in the forest of soft blond hair as the other boy's fingers began dancing over his chest.

They stayed like that—warm, comfortable, happy—until exhaustion called them back to sleep once again.

**_Saturday, 2:34 PM_ **

It astonished Cyrus how quickly he could learn to miss something that he had only experienced once.

TJ was gone when Cyrus woke up—his sleepy hand reached across the pile of sheets, searching for the boy who had thrown his life into chaos, but there was no one there. Even his warmth was gone. As the tired teen pushed himself up onto his elbows, he could see that the chair where TJ had deposited his wet clothes was empty as well. 

In a quickened breath, the anxiety began to bubble in his throat like thick poison.

It didn’t matter that TJ had spent the entire morning kissing him until his brain was mush. Anything could have happened while Cyrus slept. TJ might have returned Kira's text, might have decided he'd made a mistake. He could have looked over at the boy still snoring into his pillow and just realized 'you know, in the daylight he doesn't look quite as good.' He could have gotten bored, because kissing and groping and hugging and laughing weren't enough for him. A million possible paths existed where TJ woke up and decided he needed to get out of there, all without even leaving a...

Oh.

TJ left a note. 

Stuck to the still crumpled pillow, the one that held the imprint of TJ's head, was a sticky note. Two sticky notes, actually—one stuck on top of another.

The first one has a rough drawing, in TJ's signature style, of a dog alone in a big bed, with sad eyes and the covers pulled all the way up to its chin.

Confused, Cyrus flipped up to the next note and, like magic, the anxiety in his chest calmed down—not completely gone but at least he no longer felt like he was about to choke on nothing—as he looked over what TJ had drawn for him. It was the same bed, the same dog—but happy, now. Because next to the dog, looking at him with a shakily drawn smile, was a raccoon. A little heart floating in the air between them. Under the drawing was the caption:

_TJ #3546 is a lucky guy. You look beautiful when you sleep._

He still had no idea where TJ was, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. But of all the possible ways TJ could have left while he was sleeping, he supposed this wasn’t the worst.

The urge to grab his phone and text the other teen was strong, but the last thing he wanted to do was mess something up by getting attached too fast. That was one of the things that had bothered him about Iris—it was something Jonah used to always complain about, too—and he refused to do the same thing to TJ. Clearly the older teen had needed to go somewhere. He’d reach out when he wanted to.

And the note really was cute.

Their little kitchen was bustling with activity when Cyrus finally emerged from his room, having spent longer than he cared to admit staring at the note before forcing himself out of bed and into some clothes. He’d never stayed in bed so late—not even since leaving his Mom’s—and his body was screaming at him with aches and tightness as he walked. But it was also screaming with a frantic energy—a little bit anxiety, a little bit something new, something he wasn’t used to—that the younger boy was trying to forced down into nothingness. He didn’t need an uncharacteristic smile or jittery hands to let the whole world know that something had happened. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

None of his roommates even looked up as he entered the kitchen and made a bee-line straight for the coffee maker.

"Do they have a mustache?" Lester and Reed’s attentions were occupied with an old copy of 'Guess Who,’ which Reed had picked up for five cents at a yard sale one weekend. He’d insisted he was unbeatable. So far, out of a dozen games, Lester had yet to prove him wrong—and Cyrus hadn't tried.

"No. No they do not. Because this game was made in the fucking seventies, and I just told you that it was a woman!"

The coffee machine was not where Cyrus expected it to be—the abject fear that overcame Cyrus at the thought of a caffeine-less morning perhaps pointed to him being a bit too dependent on the stuff—instead, its normal location was taken by muffin tins filled way too full with batter and a cake cooling gently next to a pile of dirty pans. As he scanned the kitchen, finding the coffee shoved in the corner next to the toaster, the warm and welcoming scent of chocolate almost overwhelmed him. It was wafting from the oven, which Amber was peering into as it clicked and creaked with heat, meaning at least one other baked good was in the process of being made.

It was quite the spread.

"What's all this?" He asked, half distracted as he reached past the mess to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Opening up a bakery while you’re in town?"

"All for you guys!" Amber grinned, an apron tied tight around her waist, her long blonde hair tied up in a bun. "Can't mooch a place to crash without paying you back somehow."

"You’re not a mooch, my dear Amber. You’re always welcome. But, well... you know what they say. Never look a gift-horse in the mouth. Whatever that means...” with a flourish, Reed looked up from his game to grab a chunk of crumble from the top of the cake behind him.

"Go ahead, cut a slice, please. It's a gift. If you guys don't eat it, it'll just go to waste." Without asking, Amber swiped the cup of coffee from Cyrus’s hand, making a sour face on her first sip before the younger teen could stop her. As she added a pinch of sugar from the bag on the counter, Cyrus opted to let her have that one. Pouring himself another mug wasn’t too much of a problem—and he'd found over the last few months that he preferred it black.

"Thanks but no thanks. You know I'm on a diet! I couldn’t stomach a full slice."

"I watched you eat an entire roll of cookie dough when you got home last night. Don't bullshit me, Reed."

"That's why I need to diet!” Reed insisted, already starting to dig through the drawers for a knife. “Drunk-me makes very poor life decisions!"

"No, but seriously," Cyrus interjected once the first sip of coffee did its job to wake him up a little more. "How long have you been up? This is... this is a lot of cake." He hadn't noticed the pound cake sitting in a loaf pan on the opposite counter. “I didn’t even know we had this many baking tins...”

"Oh, you know," Amber shrugged, holding her mug up to her mouth as she took another hesitant sip. "Pretty early. That's the benefit of sleeping on the couch. You get an early wakeup call when the neighbors start arguing about their cat."

It was only after Amber turned back to the bowl of batter she'd been mixing that Cyrus realized what was wrong with that statement.

He blamed his sleep-and-romance-addled brain.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!" He could hear Reed scoff quietly on the other side of the room, but chose to keep his focus on Amber. "I completely forgot that it's not my room right now. I'll clean it up—it'll be like I was never there."

"No! No." Amber looked over her shoulder, a coy smile on her face. "It's okay, Cy. I noticed you needed it more than I did, anyway."

"Hmm?"

"TJ seemed cool, by the way."

"Super cool," Reed added as he grabbed a plate and served himself quite a large slice of coffee cake. Cyrus prepared himself for teasing. Or sarcasm. But his older roommate’s voice was surprisingly level, missing all of his usually annoying intonations. "We met him as he was leaving. Nice guy."

"Oh yeah?" Cyrus asked, trying not to sound strained. He’d been letting himself hope that TJ had snuck out unnoticed—though, from what he'd learned of the older teen, he wouldn't be surprised if the blond had gotten himself seen on purpose.

But that was okay. Because just having a guy at the apartment didn't mean anything. Definitely didn’t mean he needed to acknowledge the giddy energy he was still trying to keep bottled up inside his chest. Definitely didn't mean he needed to tell his roommates what he'd been up to for the past twelve hours.

Just because he enjoyed making out with one guy—really, really enjoyed it—didn't mean he had to tell anyone anything.

"Mhmm," Amber hummed, leaning back against the counter with a smile that said 'I know, and I'm happy for you.' But she didn't know, and she didn't need to know, so...

"Yeah, he's uh... he's a good guy. A good friend," Cyrus nodded to himself, setting his coffee on the lone empty spot on the counter. "He got drunk last night when we were out, and I offered to let him sleep here. Safer, y'know?”

"Right." Amber nodded, her voice sincere even as her eyes kept shifting to look at Reed. Reed, whose smile and nod were not nearly as subtle as he thought they were.

"What?" Cyrus asked, feeling his desire to withdraw from the crowded room flare up as Amber responded with a quick, fake-innocent shake of her head. "Alright, so we're not allowed to have friends at the apartment anymore?"

"Cyrus," Amber shook her head again. "It's fine."

"Exactly! It's fine! So, why are we talking about it? There's nothing to talk about."

"Woah, hey, we're cool, little sparrow," Reed held his hands up, a friendly but unsure smile on his face. "No worries."

“Good," Cyrus nodded, lifting his coffee mug in a salute to his roommates. "Then, I’m gonna go clean out Amber’s room.”

Feeling surprisingly confident in the handling of his roommate situation—it really wasn't their business, and he was in the process of convincing himself that they now understood that—Cyrus nodded to the three of them and headed back down the hallway. He had some translating to do for AP Latin, so he wanted to get the room over and done with. 

"Does she have a hat?"

"For the last time, Lester. It's not Maria!"

**_Monday, 7:50 AM_ **

"Are you sure you're allowed to keep walking into Jefferson like this?" 

Cyrus shifted his feet awkwardly, the plastic-wrapped chunk of cake sitting precariously atop his stack of books was dangerously close to toppling to the ground, and he couldn’t seem to find a way to make it slide back toward his chest.

"I can do whatever I want," Amber grinned, tucking the still-untouched pound cake under her arm. "Besides, alumni visit all the time. And Marsha loves me. Don't you, Marsha?" 

The security guard walking by raised a hand in greeting to the two of them, but her wide smile was directed only at Amber. Like they were long lost friends.

Cyrus didn’t even know her name was Marsha.

"You forget, Goodman. I ran this place not too long ago. Even Metcalf won't stop me."

"Right..." Cyrus glanced at the blonde walking ahead of him skeptically. True, Amber had been popular, loved by teachers, and an overall HBIC during her tenure at Jefferson. But Metcalf hated everyone under the age of thirty-seven. "Still not sure why you have to walk me in like it's my first day of school."

"You need more friends, Cy."

"I—what? I do not! What does that have to—"

"You do," Amber insisted. "You need more friends, and we're going to use these delicious cakes to help you out!"

"You're just salty because Reed forced you to get these out of the apartment, aren't you?" Cyrus asked, rolling his eyes. The steely glare Amber shot over her shoulder when he tripped and nearly dropped his assigned baked good was almost enough to make him want to shut up.

"I just don't want amazing food to go to waste. Hence—" she gestured at the mass of students standing around the courtyard, chatting, laughing, looking at their phones with that signature Monday-morning dread "—this."

"Right. Okay, so why does that mean you're coming along? Should I expect you to start shadowing my classes, now?” Amber looked over her shoulder to make sure Cyrus could see her rolling her eyes. “Don't you have... I dunno. Paperwork? Or family stuff you're supposed to be doing? Or a lecture to watch?" 

Amber had been decidedly not busy for the past few days, and Cyrus was beginning to get concerned. Between baking, asking him way too many annoying questions, and lazing around the apartment with Reed, Amber hadn’t taken any obvious initiative to accomplish whatever it was her goals were for her visit. And, not that he wanted her gone, but he was starting to worry she was going to have to extend her visit. The previous two nights on the couch had been brutal on his back.

And, honestly, with the suspicious looks she kept sending his way, he was reaching the point where he wouldn’t mind if she left sooner rather than later.

"Don't change the subject, Cy, this is all about helping you." Shaking her head, Amber grabbed the cake from the top of Cyrus's books before turning back to push her way through the crowd of students.

"You're not going to answer my question are you?"

"I know you, Cy," Amber continued, leaving Cyrus unsure if she had heard him or not. "I know how socially lazy you are. You'd just give the cakes to Jonah, or TJ I guess—" Amber’s quick glance over her shoulder was anything but subtle, and that fluttering flared up in his chest once again, "—and they'd eat the whole thing before the first bell."

"What's wrong with that?" Cyrus asked, feeling surprisingly indignant. Just because she had guessed exactly what Cyrus was planning didn't necessarily mean it was a bad idea. What was so bad about making Jonah happy on a Monday morning? Or, maybe, if he was interested—or hungry—TJ?

"We can do better than that. Now, where can we find those girls I met last week? Andi and... you know. Them."

Cyrus paused near the front door of the school, confusion overwhelming his frustration with his roommate. Amber’s responded simply by flashing her classic you-can’t-change-my-mind smile as she readjusted the cakes in her hands. He had essentially zero choice in the matter.

"I don't know.” With a sigh, the already tired teen adjusted the stack of books in his hand and glanced through the glass doors toward the lobby inside. “The common room, maybe? They always seem to be there whenever I look in."

"Sweet.” Without a moment’s hesitation, Amber pushed through the doors. An unfortunately placed freshman was almost knocked to the ground, but Amber lead the way, unbothered. “Let's go, Goodman! Now, when we hand over the cakes, make sure to—whoops, hold on."

The change in his roommate’s momentum caught Cyrus off guard. She stopped short, and he had no choice but to freeze, one foot halfway through a step, lest he stumble into the blonde’s back. Unbothered, Amber quickly stacked the two cakes onto the top of his books, a distracted, frustrated look on her face. Finally, buzzing began to emanate from her purse as Amber began to dig through it’s contents, muttering to herself about her desperate need to reorganize. Unsurprisingly, her bright pink phone case blended remarkably well into a bag where everything from the lining to her lip glass was also... bright pink.

"Ah-ha! Here we—oh. Nevermind." In the split-second before the call was declined, Cyrus could just make out the caller ID for 'Dad' on his roommate's lock screen. Not that he was trying to snoop, but he didn’t exactly have anything else to distract him. "Just a spam call. So ridiculous, I swear I get like ten a day." Amber's words rushed out a bit more strained than usual, but then the phone was shoved unceremoniously back into her bag and the blonde quickly recomposed herself. A shrug and an overly-big smile were all the explanation Amber offered before grabbing the cakes and shoving through a cluster of senior boys on her way to the common room.

Sure enough, Andi, Buffy, and Libby could be seen through the door, papers strewn across the table in front of them. Cyrus’s instinct was to hesitate outside—he’d been avoiding the common room since the previous Wednesday—but Amber was having none of it. With a shove to his back, Cyrus was propelled though the door, books almost tumbling from his grasp as he looked up to find a room that looked very different from what he was expecting. One that actually looked organized. And clean.

The mural was still staring at him, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, seeing the it’s ugly colors on the wall no longer felt like a punch to his stomach—it just made him think of TJ. A topic he'd been trying very hard to avoid, lest that uncomfortably pleasant energy began to bubble out of him again.

To distract himself—he really didn't need Amber catching him fidgeting, or blushing, or whatever his body was about to do—Cyrus focused on the new layout of the room he had forcibly stumbled into. The painting materials were still there, all shoved to the back wall, but the tables and chairs had finally been brought back to one half of the room. The girls were seated around the table closest to the center, sitting in a random assortment of folding chairs and stools, but for once they weren’t the only people in the room. A table in the back corner also had two boys—no one Cyrus could recognize—doing something on their laptops.

It was actually—as astonishing as the idea might be—starting to look like a usable space

"We come bearing sweets!" Amber called out as she swept into the room behind a still-flustered Cyrus. "No, not for you," she immediately shut down the boys in the back before turning to the girls with an excited smile.

"Oh!" Buffy was the first to look up from her papers, surprised confusion in her eyes as Amber waltzed over to their table to drop the two cakes in front of them with a clatter of pans. "Thank you? That's very, um..."

"Oh, fuck yeah." Andi immediately dove forward, unwrapping the coffee cake with a look of excitement and relief in her eyes. "My mom tried to make pancakes this morning. It did not go well. I am starving."

"Please, eat up!" Amber grinned, pulling up a chair and falling into a seat across the table from Libby. "Cyrus is a little bitch who couldn't finish them this weekend, so they're all yours!"

"I resent that statement," Cyrus shook his head as he fell into his own chair next to Amber. As much as he wanted to ignore Amber’s plan, he also hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. And the pound cake had been calling his name all weekend. "I was in a sugar coma all of Sunday because of you."

"Shit, this is so good!" Andi mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. Beside her, Buffy continued regard the suddenly appearing treats with what was probably a healthy level of skepticism. Baked goods were iffy history at Jefferson. Cyrus tried to recall the last time a school group had thrown a bake sale that didn't end in at least one case of food poisoning.

A sane school administrator would have forbidden them long ago.

"So," Amber grinned, leaning forward to cut herself a slice of pound cake. "I like what you guys have done with the place. Very impressed with the progress since last week."

"Oh! Thanks!" Buffy beamed, clearly very proud of herself. Or of the room. But probably of herself. "It took most of our Friday night, but we got it done."

"Cyrus!" Amber's sudden slap to his chest almost made the younger teen choke on the slice of cake he was shoving into his mouth. "Why didn't you help them out?"

"I was busy!" Cyrus forced out as he swallowed down the mouthful of cake nearly blocking his airway. "I had—I didn't know they were doing it. I had... things to do—I was busy!"

"It's fine," Buffy dismissed, finally giving in and grabbing a slice for herself. A small slice, but, then again, Cyrus wasn’t sure he’s ever seen her eat anything other than a protein bar. "Not that we wouldn't have appreciated your... immense strength, Cyrus."

"Hey!"

"What took up most of the time was actually getting that thing here from Libby's," Buffy pointed to the other half of the room, where a new piece of furniture was taking up a good amount of floor space. A green-and-blue striped couch, with a pull-out futon fully extended, sat against one of the walls. Cyrus vaguely remembered seeing the same couch in Libby’s garage apartment, though it had looked significantly better in that dim lighting. Under the school’s bright fluorescents, the couch’s age was obvious. The mattress was still uncovered, a little dingy in places, and reminded Cyrus way too much of his own personal sleeping arrangements, but otherwise seemed to be in fine working order. At least, it didn't look like it was about to collapse.

"I was gonna ask about that," Cyrus muttered.

"Yeah, are you promoting nap time here at Jefferson? I mean, kudos, I guess, but..."

"No, but I like how you think," Andi grinned, grabbing another slice of cake as Amber returned her smile. "Actually, we told Metcalf that, with school starting to ramp up and get stressful, students would need a place to rest. So, y’know, maybe naptime isn't so far off."

"So you got a futon?" Cyrus asked.

"Yeah!" Andi mumbled around a mouthful of pound cake. "I already started making some pillowcases with the school logo! It's gonna be sweet."

"You do realize someone is going to have sex on that thing within a month, right?" Amber asked, an undercurrent of snark in her voice. "I'm not the only one thinking that, am I?"

"Good!" Libby signed, receiving a surprised look from Amber and the other two girls. "That's sort of the point!"

"Libby!" Buffy shouted, tossing some crumbs in her friend's direction.

"What'd she say?" Amber asked, her eyes jumping from Libby’s defiant smile to Buffy’s uncomfortable glare.

"I'll translate for you." Cyrus offered. "She said—"

"Wait, am I the only one who doesn't understand Sign Language?" Amber sounded justifiably incredulous—Jefferson did have an incredibly high concentration of signers—but Cyrus nodded.

"Sort of," Cyrus shrugged, before proceeding to tell Amber what the other girl had said.

“You need to get your head out of the gutter,” Buffy shook her head, judgement coating her every word.

"And you need to get laid," Libby signed, scrunching her nose and squinting her eyes in what Cyrus could only describe as mockingly bratty. 

"You know she's right," Andi jumped in, an uneasy smile on her face. "Not about the—I mean about people having sex on the bed. It's pretty much inevitable."

"Thank you!" Libby and Amber exclaimed at the same time.

"You're all ridiculous," Buffy pushed her chair back a few inches, looking severely disappointed with the girls around her. "This is a place of study. And you should all be ashamed of yourselves."

"Uh, that's part of what's going to make people want to hang out here," Andi shook her head, as if she was explaining something obvious. Buffy only glanced at her with even more disappointment—and betrayal, maybe?—filling her eyes. "What? We have to have something to balance out the ugly as fuck mural! No one cool wants to hang out in 90’s-diversity-mural hall. But the sex couch..."

"Speaking of," Buffy turned toward Cyrus, directing all her disappointment towards the boy who was in the process of stuffing his mouth with more cake. "Cyrus. Any word on when that'll be fixed?"

"I'm just waiting on TJ," Cyrus forced out after swallowing the way-too large mouthful of baked good. "I'm just the assistant."

"Mhmm." Beside him, Amber's hum was just a bit louder than necessary as she nodded head. It was exactly what Cyrus had been hoping to avoid. Amber had made it very obvious over the course of the weekend that she had no plans to drop her ‘I know you're not telling me something and I know TJ is involved’ suspicions, and it was long past the point of getting on his nerves. He knew he had about two seconds to change the subject before his roommate started asking yet another flurry of questions.

"So, wait.” Purposefully ignoring the blonde next to him, Cyrus set down his cake and addressed his attention towards then other girls. “If you're not here to have sex or to study, what else is there to do?"

"You can watch?" Andi shrugged.

"You can film?" Libby added.

"You can all die," Buffy sent all three of them a personalized glare. "Seriously."

"No, but really. We are going to need other things, Buff," Andi said as she reached out to grab a third slice of cake. "Another couch. WiFi. Something chill to do. Otherwise, this is just going to be another library without the benefit of books."

"Well, I don't know what you want me to do with zero budget, and zero—"

"Did you say something about WiFi?" One of the boys, the one with blocky glasses and long, slicked-back black hair, was looking at the five of them with an excited smile on his face.

"Sorry, what was that?" Cyrus asked, sitting up taller in his chair to get a better look at the kid. He was definitely younger, maybe a sophomore—his friend was too, with frizzy red hair and a large cleft chin that looked odd on his otherwise small face—but Cyrus wasn't sure he'd ever seen them before. They looked like the kind of guys that would slip from his memory all too easily.

"Sorry, not to interrupt, but..." The boy looked at his friend, who nodded silently beside him. "We can get WiFi in here. If you want."

"You can do what now?" Slowly, Buffy spun around on her stool, until both boys were shrinking under he questioning stare. Cyrus could hear the disbelief lacing her words. "Metcalf said it was impossible."

"Metcalf was probably lying. And we’re friends with the IT guy," The red-head piped up, a proud grin revealing a set of astonishingly white teeth. "I have an old router in my garage. We can probably get it set up this week, and—"

"And I have the password to the teacher’s lounge network," the guy with the glasses added.

"Seriously? Like... seriously?" Buffy asked, sounding as if she didn't want to let herself believe what the two kids were saying. 

"That would be amazing!" Andi jumped up, excitement filling her voice as she spun around to smile at the two boys. “Thank you!”

"We, um... We would, of course," the bespectacled boy looked at his friend again, hesitating until he got another nod, "need some... compensation."

It was amazing how quickly a whole room’s mood could sour.

"Right, of course you do. And what does that mean?" Buffy's arms crossed over her chest as she stood to move next to Andi. "Like I said, we don't exactly have a budget here."

"And I'm not showing you my boobs," Amber interjected at no one's prompting. "So don't even ask."

"Amber, what the fuck."

"I saw how there were looking at me,” Amber glanced at Cyrus before turning back to fix the flustered boys with a judgemental glare. “Straight teen boys are all perverts."

He didn’t miss the new qualification of ‘straight’ to Amber’s usual insulting of teenage boys.

"No! No—just...” The unfortunate boy’s voice cracked under the combined glare of the girls as he meekly pointed at their table. “Can we have some cake?"

"Oh!"

"Oh, yeah!" In an instant, Buffy spun around, trying to stifle her embarrassed wince as she swiped the pound cake off the table. With a big forced smile, and an awkward laugh, she held the pan out toward the boys. "Please. Take it. Just get us the WiFi."

"Wait, can I just get—"

"Andi, I swear to god. Just—no, here. Please, take the cake."

"Don't worry girl,” Amber called as the boys happily took their prize back to their seats. “I can send Cyrus with more next week.” Her assurances apparently were not enough, as Andi turned around with an obvious pout. Shaking her head, the older girl stood and reached down for her bag just as the first warning bell rang throughout the school.

So much for Cyrus’s plan to find Jonah.

"Alright," Amber grinned, shouldering her purse with a smile. "That's my cue. Adios, bitches!"

Cyrus and the three girls—his three friends?—watched silently as Amber skipped out the door, waving at them as she disappeared into the crowd of students making their way to their first period.

"Cyrus?" Andi’s voice interrupted the younger teen’s attempt to decide if the relief he felt at Amber’s departure made him a bad person—or at least a worse person than he already was.

"Yeah?"

"Your roommate is weird."

"Yeah,” Cyrus sighed, grabbing his books and bag from the floor. “I know.”

"I like her."

**_Tuesday, 12:02 PM_ **

Three days.

He'd tried his hardest not to get impatient, not to get bothered, but it had been three days since he fell asleep with TJ in his bed and woke up to nothing but a cute note. The memory of lips pressed against his under the pouring the rain has been ricocheting around his head for _three days_ , and... that's it. The memories—and the Post-It notes—were all he had, because TJ had fallen off the face of the fucking earth.

On Sunday, he had distracted himself with homework and Amber's baking and Reed's pestering, and he'd told himself that TJ would want some breathing room because... of course he would. If his reaction was anything like how Cyrus felt—the stuttering in his chest, the warming of his cheeks, the twisting in his gut—then it made sense to want some time to himself. Cyrus needed some time to make himself just to feel sane, surely TJ would as well. The pit in his stomach would go away as soon as TJ sent him a text, he’d been sure of it.

On Monday, he was a bit more stressed by the complete lack of messages on his phone. By the fact that TJ's signature hoodie was nowhere to be seen in the school halls. After leaving the common room that morning, he'd barely spoken to anyone all day—even Jonah and the gang were abandoned in favor of focusing on his phone and spending all of lunch and immediately after school trying in vain to find a sign of the other teen. But there was nothing. TJ was nowhere to be found—or, at least, was unfindable. He felt guilty when he caught himself hoping that TJ had caught a cold from standing the rain kissing a stupid boy. He felt like a horrible person, because he was hoping that the older teen was just too sick to send a message. And the pit in his stomach grew bigger. Grew more familiar. 

He used to wait for his Dad to pick him up after school with the same tired hopefulness that kept him waiting at the bus stop outside the First Street Bank for more than an hour.

Between homework assignments, he'd considered sending a message. Checking in. But... he didn't want to be that guy.

By Tuesday morning, he felt like he was all of two seconds away from snapping. He didn't even try to find his friends in the morning, sitting at the entrance of the school, running through scenarios in his head so that he could appear as nonchalant as possible when he 'randomly' ran into TJ. But it didn't matter. All that came out of it was that he was late to his first period, and the pit in his stomach started to rot.

And that was how he ended up standing outside the art room, waiting for the lunch bell to ring, tugging at the hem of his shirt and staring at the door as if it held all the secrets of the universe behind it. He knew TJ was taking Art History, he knew there was only one section of that class every year, and he knew that it was taking place behind that door.

TJ had to be there.

The twenty seconds between the lunch bell ringing and the door bursting open were some of the longest in his life. Seniors he didn't know. Junior's he didn't care for. The swarm of students exiting the classroom to join their friends trickled down to just the last lone teen. And it wasn't TJ Kippen. 

"Walker—hey, you're Walker, right?"

"Yeah? Oh, wait, you're uh... you're Libby's friend?"

"Yeah, Cyrus, hey. Anyway, um..." Cyrus glanced past the tall teen, looking over his shoulder in a last-ditch effort. Maybe TJ was still in there, pressed up against the wall. Maybe he was hiding.

"Cool, what's up, man?" Biting at his lip, Cyrus tore his eyes away from the clearly empty classroom and took the chance to study Walker's face. He looked nice enough. His eyes were friendly and his smile was wide, and the ridiculous stripe of bleached hair made Cyrus feel like he wasn't one to judge.

"I was just... do you know if he's here? If, um, TJ's here?" Cyrus scanned the other boy's face for any signs of suspicion but found none—only some mild impatience. The guy probably just wanted to get to lunch. "I need to give him something."

"Oh, the new guy? Nah." Walker shouldered his bag, an apologetic frown pulling at the edge of his lips. "I haven't seen him much, lately."

"What does that mean?" Cyrus questioned. "Isn't he in this class?" The twisting in his stomach was back, stronger than ever. Had TJ lied to him about his classes? Had TJ lied about... other things? He felt the sudden urge to grab Walker by the shoulders and shake him until he spilled everything he knew about the older teen.

"He was. Or maybe still is? I dunno, he sorta freaked out in class last week, and I've only seen him once or twice since." Walker shrugged, seemingly unconcerned with the mystery now building itself out in Cyrus's head. "Maybe he's sick? I never really talked to the guy."

"Did he look sick? I mean, did he—"

"Look, man," Walker's clapped his hand on Cyrus's shoulder, his smile apologetic but detached. This wasn't important to him. Cyrus realized he was probably starting to sound weird. "That's really all I know. Sorry, but I've really got to get to lunch. Maybe someone else knows more?"

"Yeah, no, I..." Cyrus nodded, trailing behind Walker at half speed as the other teen pushed his way through the hallway. The younger teen had no desire to go to the cafeteria, instead making his way to his locker and pretending he was suddenly very interested in what books he needed for his next class.

The list of things he knew about TJ Kippen suddenly felt incredibly small. And the pit in his stomach began to fester.

Cyrus wasn't feeling very hungry.

He wasn't feeling very... anything. Except confused. He was very, very confused.

And concerned. Very concerned.

"...I'm just gonna say it, you're completely delusional if you think she was going to stay the night with you." Cyrus wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at his locker when Jonah's familiar voice filtered through the fog around his brain. For just a second, the horrible feeling in his stomach grew less intense.

His best friend. He'd been so caught up in this TJ... thing, that he'd completely forgotten that Jonah even existed.

"She totally was," as Cyrus spun around he caught sight of Marty's excited smile. "But I had to go to my Grandma's for my birthday the next day, so I was a gentleman. A true gentleman. And I called her an Uber."

All at once, his friends caught sight of him and that horrible, disgusting twisting intensified as they slowed to a stop a few feet away, looking at him with suspicion—like he was a stranger.

"Shit, your birthday." The words tumbled out Cyrus's mouth, doing nothing to convey the intense, fucked-up guilt stabbing at his heart as Marty nodded with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm so sorry, Marty. I completely forgot."

"Right." Gus shouldered his bag, staring at Cyrus. Judging him. 

Fuck. He didn't even have an excuse. He hadn't done anything on Saturday night—just watched nature documentaries with Amber while recovering from what could best be described as a makeout-induced hangover. And it wasn't like he could explain why his mind had been so fuzzy.

Why hadn't they called him? Or texted him? Or... anything?

"No, seriously, I just..." Cyrus knew he needed to say something. An excuse, preferably. For the sake of his own sanity, he needed to be able to talk to his friends—even if he couldn't tell them what exactly was going on. So he needed to say something, and without a lot of time to plane, he went with what was quickly becoming his default. "I had a big problem with my uh... with my family this weekend."

He tried to return Gus and Marty's stares—tried to look as apologetic as possible—but he just couldn't meet Jonah's eyes.

After what felt like a full minute of silent stand-off, Marty and Gus finally nodded. Finally took a few steps closer so that they could talk to Cyrus without a literal gulf of space between them. The relief was immense. He wasn't sure if he was forgiven, but Cyrus would take whatever he could get.

"Seriously. I'm so sorry," Cyrus echoed, leaning against the wall of lockers and resisting the urge to run up and hug them—because that wasn't a thing normal guys did no matter how much he wanted to. "How was the party? Anything happen?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Gus grinned, throwing his arm around Marty and pulling the mountain of a teen to his side. "This guy here snuck off with Buffy. I dunno when. Disappeared for like... forty-five minutes."

"It's true," Marty nodded, a smug smile making him appear very proud of himself. "All true."

"Except he won't tell us what happened," Jonah added, and for the first time, Cyrus turned to look at his best friend. Jonah was smiling, leaning over Gus to poke at Marty's chest, but... something felt off. When he turned back to face Cyrus, his smile faltered for just a second. And then it was back. "Which we all know means that nothing happened."

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell," Marty interjected, shoving Jonah with enough force to knock the slightly shorter teen off balance. "And as I've already established, I am a gentleman."

"Gentleman my ass," Jonah shook his head, and then he looked to Cyrus for support and things felt a little bit more normal. And Cyrus had no idea why, but he wasn’t going to complain.

"Why do I have a feeling you just got lost in the woods behind your house?" Cyrus offered, hesitating just a second until Jonah and Gus laughed and Marty began to glare at him.

"Laugh all you want," Marty shook his head, shoving Gus down the hall. "The only thing I’ll tell you is that her hair smelled... amazing. Like lavender. "

"You're such a creep!" Jonah laughed, following after Gus as the red-headed teen continued to walk down the hall towards his locker. "What's next, an essay on how beautiful her feet are?"

"Fine! Don't believe me!" Marty shouted, following behind the other two.

"We don't," Jonah and Gus shouted at the exact same time.

"That doesn't change the facts!"

Cyrus watched, leaning against his locker as Marty jogged to catch up with his other two friends. The twisting, rotting, bubbling in his gut had paused while he was talking to them, but it quickly re-established itself as they walked away. Stronger, this time. As the three of them made their way to Gus's locker, still talking about girls—talking about Buffy—Cyrus could feel another layer of dread laying itself into the mix. TJ, his roommates, his parents—and now his friends.

Talking with them was nice, but... it didn't fix anything. He couldn't tell them what he was going through. He could never tell them.

They wouldn't understand.

And, as he closed his locker and walked over to join them, he couldn’t shake the feeling that some gaps could never be closed.

**_Wednesday, 11:40 AM_ **

The scratching of pencils on paper was all that kept the AP Bio room from being totally silent. Mrs. Regis had given her students a precious gift—namely, the last twenty minutes of class to work on their lab results—and everyone was being surprisingly studious. Especially Cyrus. Getting work done at home had been nigh-impossible for him all week. Between Amber asking questions, the living room completely lacking any privacy, and TJ definitively not reaching out, his brain was consistently in twenty places at once. Getting work done in class was his best bet.

"You forgot about the lag phase," Andi's pencil nudged the back of his hand, her voice just barely loud enough to be heard from two feet away. Whatever cold shoulder she'd been giving him after his fuck up the week before had clearly been cured by Amber's baked goods.

"What?"

"When the chromosomes are forming. It's supposed to go... here," a quick glance up showed that Mrs. Regis was still occupied with her grading as Andi used her pencil to point out Cyrus's mistake. 

"Shit. Thanks."

Mitosis, Cyrus concluded, could go fuck itself. It seemed so much simpler when they were learning about it in middle school. He used to think he loved Biology, but it—like many other things he used to think he loved—was quickly falling out of his favor, as of late. He was quite happy to drop his pencil when his phone buzzed, thankful for the excuse to think of something other than the mechanisms of cell life.

When TJ’s name popped up on the screen, he wasn't sure whether to laugh, or throw the phone back into his bag.

_TJ: Look at the door_

Mrs. Regis was one of those teachers who covered two-thirds of the window in her door with stickers and papers, but, sure enough, in the opening on the left, Cyrus could make out that eye-crinkling, heart-stopping, full-faced smile. In an instant, that bubbly, pleasant, overwhelming energy overpowering the anxiety that had been sitting rotten in his stomach for the past three days.

TJ looked good—where the hell had he been? TJ sent him a message—what had he been doing all week? TJ looked so happy—did he not care about what Cyrus was going through?

_TJ: You coming?_

TJ wanted to talk. He wanted to spend time together. He—

Cyrus was stuffing his things into his bag before he even realized he'd made a decision.

"Wait, where are you going?" Andi whispered, eyebrows raised in confusion. "Your diagrams looks like shit."

"Minimalism, Andi," Cyrus grabbed his bag and stood from the lab bench, the squeal of the stool against the floor causing a few people to look back. "Minimalism."

It was surprisingly easy to convince Mrs. Regis that he needed to go see Mr. Jalbert before lunch—a benefit of taking AP classes was always that the teachers generally believed you were a good kid—and before anyone could ask any more questions, he was gone. That energy bubbling in his chest was almost unbearable as the door closed behind him—even more so as TJ came into view, leaning against the bathroom door checking his phone, looking to Cyrus's mind like a shaggy supermodel waiting for his picture to be taken. Then he looked up, and that smile was back, and Cyrus's heart started beating faster, and then TJ was kissing him, and somehow still smiling at the same time and...

As much as it was exactly what Cyrus had been wanting for the past three days, it was suddenly too much. They were at school. Someone might see them. Someone might as questions. He had so many questions—his body wanted to melt into the kiss, but his brain and his hands won out, pushing the other teen away as Cyrus took a step back.

For a second, he worried that he might have offended TJ. But when his eyes cracked open to find the hallway empty aside from the two of them, all he saw was that smile.

"Come on, let's get out of here," the excitement was obvious in TJ's voice as he reached down to grab the younger teen's hand.

"And go where?" Cyrus let himself be dragged along for a few steps before gently twisting his hand out of the other boy's grip. 

"Go on an adventure?" TJ turned back around, stepping closer without missing a beat. The fear of being seen—of getting caught—flared back into Cyrus's mind as the older teen began to crowd his space. "Grab some lunch?"

"Juniors aren't allowed to leave for lunch." It wasn't what he wanted to say. He wanted to say yes. He wanted to ask where the hell TJ had been. He settled for neither. "And I have a quiz fifth period."

He prepared himself for the frown, for the look of disappointment that his friends always gave him when he shut down one of their crazy ideas, but it never came. TJ just paused, glanced over his shoulder and took a half-step closer before leaning down—not to whisper, but his voice still sounded so... intimate.

"I told Kira."

Cyrus was not expecting that.

"You told..."

"About us." Cyrus was astonished at how comfortable TJ looked as he said that. Almost excited. As if he was recounting the best day of his life.

Suddenly all of the questions that had been floating around Cyrus's head were wiped away—unanswered, but suddenly unimportant.

TJ told Kira. There were so many things that could mean, so many new questions to ask, and Cyrus found himself unable to form a single word.

Finally, TJ started to look a little concerned. 

"Doesn't that make you happy?"

Did it? He was still trying to understand all the implications of the bomb TJ had just dropped. There was so much he was still unsure about. But if TJ told Kira, did that mean he was... choosing Cyrus? Was that a choice he could make? Did that mean he was serious about... them? Whatever they were? Because that...

He needed to give an answer before the anxiety in TJ’s eyes made him throw up.

"Yeah!" The relief that flooded his chest as that gentle, innocent smile returned made him feel like he was floating. "Yes, it does. Extremely happy. I just... I wasn't expecting that!"

That felt... mostly correct.

And there were bigger issues at hand than figuring out his feeling with 100% accuracy. Like the fact that he was about two minutes from fainting if TJ kept looking at him with that fond smile.

"Yeah."

"I just... are you okay?” Cyrus asked. He didn’t want to imagine how uncomfortable that conversation must have been. “I mean—I just don't want you to feel sad, or... oh my god, this is totally my fault, isn’t it."

It wasn't that Cyrus hadn’t understood what he was technically doing to Kira—and Iris—when he snuck away to go with TJ. But he'd successfully convinced himself it didn't matter until right that moment.

With one choice, he had blown up not one relationship, but two.

"Do I look sad to you?" TJ grinned, wrapping his arm around Cyrus's waist and pulling the smaller boy even closer. Bending down to press their foreheads together. Even as the fear flared up again, Cyrus felt his desire to pull away falter. "I want to fucking celebrate!"

"Are you sure?" He almost didn't want to let himself believe it was true. God, he wanted it to be true.

"Mhmm." And then TJ was pulling away, bouncing lightly as he held Cyrus's stare. "What about you? Did you tell Iris?"

"Um. Not as of yet..."

"True," TJ hummed again. "Not exactly a fun conversation. But I'm pretty used to being a disappointment, so..." the older teen shrugged, then leaned against a locker with a grin.

It was amazing to Cyrus how TJ could always seem so happy. So care free. Other than that one time at the apartment with Kira, he'd rarely even seen TJ without a smile. Shouldn’t the older teen have at least paused when Cyrus admitted to keeping him a secret? Shouldn’t he have shown some frustration? Cyrus tried to imagine the situation flipped—how he would feel if he’d officially broken things off with Iris but TJ hadn’t told a soul. Would he be able to give the other teen such a relaxed, happy smile?

No.

And that wasn't fair to TJ.

"What about... Wait. I completely forgot to ask this weekend—do people even know? Are you out to your family?"

It wouldn't be fair at all.

"No. No, they don't," Cyrus swallowed down the ball of nerves that started building itself up in his throat. He almost couldn't believe what he was about to say—his instincts were screaming that it was a bad idea. But he couldn't... not. Could he? It wouldn’t be fair. "But I'll tell them. I promise. As for my parents, I—well, I'll tell my Dad. Even if he doesn’t like it, his guilt over abandoning me will probably still win out. Might make him feel even guiltier, honestly."

He tried to force out a laugh, but if TJ noticed how hollow it sounded, he didn’t say anything.

“What about your mom?”

“Oh, she’s crazy, so...” another fake laugh, another forced shrug, “I don’t really care.”

_Everything’s fucked with her whether or not she knows._

“What does that mean?” TJ asked, taking a small step back with a questioning look on his face. “Crazy?”

“Like, mentally disturbed.” Cyrus glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one had entered the hallway while he was distracted. He tried to keep the darkness out of his voice, tried to maintain his nonchalant tone, but it was a struggle. “Like, hid drugs in my food for months because she’s so terrified of the world that she needed absolute control over me.”

At that, Cyrus actually did laugh—an awkward combination of a scoff and a chuckle, but it came from somewhere real. It would be funny if it wasn’t so horrible. But it was horrible, which was why he did his best to keep it a secret. Only three people in the world knew the truth: Amber, Jonah, and his dad. And now TJ.

Coming clean filled him with... well, not relief—but it felt good.

There really was something about the other boy that made him feel comfortable sharing his secrets. Even if TJ did look a little... bothered by what he’d just said.

“Don’t worry, she’s not in my life anymore. I don’t even talk to her.”

“I’m not worried,” TJ’s words came out quickly, rushed together as the older teen glanced toward the ground. “But why don’t...”

Cyrus thought it was pretty self explanatory.

“Because I don’t need crazy people in my life.” With a soft grin, and a final check to ensure the hallways was completely empty, Cyrus closed the space between them. “My life’s crazy enough already, no thanks to you, Mr. Kippen.”

TJ nodded, not meeting Cyrus’s eyes.

“So I’m a dog?” Cyrus asked, patting the pocket where TJ’s folded note had been sitting for the past three days. He felt a desperate need to bring the conversation back into lighter territory, and the thought of TJ’s drawing was more than enough to bring a smile to his lips.

“Underdog, yeah...” his words were quiet.

“Even better.”

Cyrus knew the bell was about to ring—the hall about to flood with kids—but there was definitely enough time for one more kiss. Maybe two. With the still soft smile, he leaned up to press their lips together and—

TJ’s hand was on his head, ruffling his hair affectionately and blocking his access to the taller teen’s lips. Cute, but not quite what Cyrus was going for.

“You’ll be late for lunch,” TJ grinned, taking a step back as the ringing bell echoed through the hall. Within seconds they were surrounded by students, swarming around TJ as he took a few more backward steps down the hall.

Cyrus was about to call out, to ask if he wanted to have lunch together, but with a wave, the older teen turned around disappeared down the stairs.

Surrounded by students, Cyrus was, once again, alone.

**_Thursday, 5:49 PM_ **

_Received on Wednesday_  
_TJ: You coming?_

_Sent at 4:17 PM_  
_Cyrus: do you want to do something tomorrow? I don't have any plans yet_

Clearly, Cyrus had done something wrong.

If he wasn't sure of his fuck up when TJ had disappeared in a crowd of students, the subsequent radio silence had made everything incredibly clear. He'd even broken his cardinal rule—he sent the first message this time. Still, nothing.

He'd obviously screwed up—that wasn't the question.

The question he was asking himself as he laid on the couch—technically his bed—was how. What exactly had he done that had made TJ go from asking him to skip the rest of the school day, to not even wanting to check in with him.

There were two possibilities he could come up with. He'd studied their conversation in his mind countless times since waking up that morning, trying to track when the mood had changed, when the connection broke, and he thought he had a pretty good idea of where the error had been made. It was either: A, when he admitted that he hadn't told anyone about them yet; or B, when told TJ about his crazy mom. Both made sense. He could understand a guy like TJ, a guy who clearly had very little shame and quite a lot to be proud of, getting hurt—maybe even offended—at Cyrus trying to keep him a secret. 

Not that Cyrus wanted to keep him a secret! But... he wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to say. He wasn't even sure what exactly he was supposed to be telling people about. That they made out once? It’s not like he was—like they were... everything still seemed so tenuous. 

But at least if that was the problem, he could fix it. All he had to do was tell someone. TJ might have started with Kira, but Cyrus figured the older teen wouldn't be too upset if he didn’t start everything with the highest level of difficulty.

Unfortunately, there wasn't very much he could do if TJ was freaked out by the idea of his lunatic mom. Which was just fucking perfect. Give it up for Leslie Goodman, somehow able to ruin her son's life even from exile. He'd laugh if it didn't make him so sick to his stomach. He tried to imagine a world where he still lived with his mother, and somehow ended up in the same situation. How would Leslie Goodman react to 'Hey Mom, how was work? Good? Cool. I spent my Friday night making out with a boy who I find so attractive that, when I recall the image of him shirtless in my bed, I have to sit down. What's for dinner?'

What would she freak out over first? The boy part? The making out part? The sleeping in the same bed part?

Or maybe she'd just freak out because TJ wasn't Jewish.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Reed's way-too-happy voice snapped Cyrus out of his train of thought as his older roommate announced his entry into the living room. That was generally a thing, now—since it was technically his room, Amber and Lester would usually announce themselves before they walked around the corner. And Reed would sometimes give the younger teen a half-seconds notice. "Cyrus Goodman. Chillin. On the couch."

Without waiting for a response—or permission, for that matter—Reed lifted Cyrus's legs, fell onto the plush cushion of the couch, and lowered the smaller teen's feet back down to rest in his lap.

It would be annoying, but Cyrus had barely spoken to anyone all week, and Reed's unusual cheeriness was almost enough to make him stop thinking about the rest of his problems. It would be a lot more fun to try to figure out what drugs Reed might have taken.

"You know this really is a nice couch," Reed said as he extended his arms across the back of the sofa, patting at the cushions lovingly.

"Mmm, yeah," Cyrus replied, letting a smile escape onto his lips as he put his hands behind his head. "A real five-star stay, this thing is."

"I know, right?" As if he couldn't detect Cyrus's extremely obvious sarcasm, Reed's smile widened. "It's so plush, you have a nice view of the city, no bright sun in the morning..."

"Mhmm." Cyrus could tell Reed was getting at something, but he wasn't quite sure what. It was obvious the blond had rehearsed this more than once. He clearly had a plan.

"And it's big! So big. Especially if you fold it out, it's the biggest bed in the apartment!" Reed continued, patting at the cushions without breaking eye contact. "Very convenient, let me tell you. Perfect, really, if you happened to have someone who needed to sleep here for the night. TJ, for example. Or... anyone. Perfect size for two people."

Oh. So that's what he was playing at.

He couldn't decide if it was funny, sweet, or terrifying.

"Are you serious right now?" Disbelief with an undercurrent of laughter was apparently what his brain decided to go with.

"No." Reed shook his head, never dropping his smile. "I'm joking, Cyrus. The couch is obviously horrible."

"Oh, very nice."

"This is me trying to be the responsible role model, believe it or not," Reed shrugged, dropping his hands and the faux cheeriness with a sigh. "Just making sure you know that I'm here to talk. If you ever want to."

It was almost nice. But the idea of Reed viewing himself as a role model was more than Cyrus could handle without rolling his eyes.

"Right, well that was clearly a waste of time." With a tight smile, the blond lifted Cyrus's legs like he was the world's worst tollbooth and pushed himself up from the couch. Like most of his best interactions with Reed, Cyrus was perfectly willing to let this one be short, weird, and immediately forgotten, but...

It wasn't that he wanted to talk. But if TJ really was upset that Cyrus hadn't told anyone... the gay roommate who clearly had too much confidence in what he thought he knew wasn't the worst place to start.

Though, the way his stomach started to somersault at the idea...

He couldn't believe he was actually about to do this.

"Wait. Reed." With a sigh, Cyrus pushed himself up to a sitting position. Part of him hoped his older roommate would ignore him like he usually did—that he would just keep walking and disappear into his room. But, for once, he appeared to have Reed’s undivided attention. When the blond stopped a few feet away, slowly turning until he could meet Cyrus's eye with a practiced-but-shaky neutral expression, it was like a shock of ice to his spine.

It was actually happening.

"Yeah?"

"I, um... this weekend with TJ. We..." Fuck, he could see the edges of Reed's mouth straining to stay neutral and every twitch was causing a flare of anxiety, a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart. He had to take a second to swallow down the lump in his throat. He had to break eye contact. He had to do this. "We didn't have... yeah. But we did—we still..."

Kissed. Made out. Hooked up.

Even without actually saying any of the scary words, it was still one of the most terrifying things Cyrus had ever forced himself to do.

"For real?" Reed abandoned his attempts at neutrality, the smile spilling onto his face before he took another step closer. 

For a second, Cyrus was worried he was about to get a hug.

"That's great, Cy," Reed lowered himself onto the coffee table, leaving a respectable foot between the two of them—which, given Reed's proclivity for hugging, was actually quite impressive. "I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks," Like it was an accomplishment, or something to be proud of, instead of just... a fact. Still, he could feel some of the anxiety fading away in his chest—this was going okay. "I... yeah. I've been thinking about it, and—I just... I don't want to tell everyone. Or even most people. Right?" Cyrus gestured to... he wasn't exactly sure what—to the world at large. "What TJ and I do, I just want it to be us."

"Hey, no pressure, little sparrow," Reed grinned, stopping himself just short of reaching over to put a hand on Cyrus's knee. "I didn't tell anyone 'til I was on my third boyfriend, so I get you."

"Well, and I also don't want to have to, y'know... come out?" It felt almost like the wrong phrase. Like that didn't apply to what was going on in his situation. "I don't think... I don't know. I feel like I should have a better idea of what I'm trying to say, here."

"Hey, man—and I'm being completely serious here," Reed leaned forward, still smiling but truly looking more sincere than he had all afternoon. "Do what feels right for you. I'm happy for you no matter what."

"I mean, I'm not—right now, I'm not telling you that I'm gay. Or whatever. I just—"

"I understand, Cy." Finally, Reed passed the limit of his self-control and reached forward to squeeze his shoulder.

It felt nice.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

Now he just needed to carefully end the conversation, and everything would be... perfect. But first, he just wanted to make absolutely sure that Reed understood what he was trying to say. Reed didn’t exactly have the best track record for actually listening.

"I mean, not that it's... I mean, obviously, it's cool to be proud and all if you are gay. Y'know, 'wooooo!' But I'm just not like that."

"Not like... what?" Reed asked, retreating back to the coffee table with an eyebrow raised.

"Not like..." Cyrus mimed cheering and waving a flag, "I'm not, y'know, crazy about it."

There was a pause, a moment when Cyrus almost felt confident that he had successfully communicated his point, before Reed shook his head and levelled an incredulous stare at the younger teen.

"And what is crazy? To you."

"I mean, the guy who goes around and brags to everyone about all the guys he hooked up with, or talks about his favorite penis," Cyrus started listing off the traits he'd decided were never going to apply to him just because he enjoyed making out with a guy. "The guy who dresses in drag, or worships Beyoncé, or dances in tight leather pants. Like, I'm not going to go download Grindr and flirt with random guys, or—"

"So," Reed leaned even farther back, crossing his arms over his chest, "you're not me, is what you're saying."

"No! Reed. That's not what I meant," Cyrus reached out for just a second before pulling his hands back to his lap. He could tell from the glare Reed was sending his way that he had said the wrong thing, but he just... maybe he should have rehearsed this. "You do you, right? 'Do what feels right for you,' and all, but..."

Cyrus sighed, and Reed kept his eyebrow raised expectantly. 

"I'm just trying to say that... I could never be that wild and crazy gay guy."

For a moment Reed looked taken aback, surprised blinking as he shook his head, but then he was leaning forward, holding eye contact with the teen on the couch.

"Cyrus, I'm not a 'wild and crazy gay.' I'm just myself."

"I know. I know! And that's... that's great, Reed. That's super important." Cyrus wasn't expecting the scoff, or the narrowing of his eyes. He couldn't understand what was so difficult about this. He just wanted his roommate to understand. "But—look, I'm never going to be the one going to pride with rainbow body paint and booty shorts on. I'm not going to suddenly become that just because I, y'know... loved a guy. Once."

He really couldn't understand how he could make it any more clear.

"Okay."

"Thank you—"

"Okay, so you see," whatever had been left of the hyper, overly-chipper smile from minutes before was completely gone—in its place, an unfamiliar scowl, and a seriousness that Cyrus was unaccustomed to seeing from Reed, “those gays you're bashing right now?"

Cyrus wanted to interrupt, to ask when exactly he had been 'bashing' any gays. But the glare Reed was giving him kept him silent.

"The ones who wander the street holding hands with their boyfriend, wearing rainbow flags and throwing glitter at Pride? They have balls that you could never imagine, little sparrow." Reed paused for a second, enough to take in a shaky inhale, and Cyrus got the distinct feeling that he was holding himself back. "Those gays have been insulted and humiliated—maybe even had their asses kicked. They have friends who were killed, or driven to suicide, or locked up by their families. They know there are places—entire countries—that they can't go to without risking their lives. And yet they still choose to show who they are. To be, as you so eloquently called it, 'wild and crazy gays.' And do you know why?"

He had never heard Reed's voice so heated, so angry. He'd never even seen him expressing an emotion that was less than ten percent ironic. It shook him. And as Reed's eyes continued to bore holes into the back o his skull, Cyrus couldn't summon the confidence to respond.

"They do it because, to them, they have no choice, Cyrus. We're—They're just trying to live their lives in a world that doesn't want them to. And they'd rather die than be ashamed of who they are. Ashamed because of people like you, by the way. People who call them crazy, and try so hard to make sure no one thinks you're one of them, as if that's the worst thing that could happen to you."

The silence that fell on the apartment was filled with guilt, and surprise, and... a whole lot of confusion. All Cyrus had wanted to do was make it clear what he wasn't. He hadn't wanted to... everything Reed had just said, it was ricocheting around his head, echoing all the anger and frustration of his roommate's words.

Fuck.

"Reed, I... I'm sorry, I just—"

"No." Reed's hands shot up by his head as he stood from the table. "Don't say anything. Please." Shaking his head, the blonde turned toward the kitchen. 

Cyrus waited for the next comment. An insult, maybe—he certainly felt like he deserved one. But Reed just walked out of the room and didn't turn back.

He was worried. He was more than a little freaked out. He had clearly screwed a lot of things up. But when Cyrus's eyes dropped to the coffee table and landed on his phone, one thought jumped out in his mind.

He’d told someone.

Maybe this didn’t have to be a total loss.

_Cyrus: alright I told my roommate_

_Cyrus: let's call it a mixed success?_

The attempt at humor was more to assuage his guilt than anything else. He had truly never seen Reed so upset. This was the guy who serenaded the plumber when their bathtub backed up with raw sewage. When someone stole his wallet at a club, Reed just canceled his cards and made a joke about hoping they didn't use his expired condom. Even being late on rent every month mostly just resulted in insulting jokes and lame threats. Yet somehow, in the process of telling Reed something that should honestly have brought them closer together—could have even been a bonding moment—Cyrus had screwed things up so royally that the wouldn't be surprised if Reed ignored him completely for the next few days.

Or worse.

His only hope was that the vibration of his phone against the table was TJ letting him know he'd fixed whatever was wrong with them.

_TJ: That's great Im happy for you. Im sorry I cant tomorrow. actually I think I need some time to myself. its not your fault but... I think maybe its just going too fast for me. Sorry._

Right.

Of course.

There had been a few times in his life where a just a few words had made Cyrus feel like the entire world had dropped out from under him.

'Your father and I are getting a divorce.'

'The test was positive for a wide range of substances.'

'I'm sorry, Cyrus, we just don't have enough space for you to be comfortable with us.'

And now he could add another one to the list.

'I think maybe it's going a bit fast for me. Sorry.'

The world was falling out from under him, and Cyrus was alone.

He needed help.

He needed his friends.

_Cyrus: what are you guys doing tomorrow night? lets do something._

He needed his best friend.

**_Friday, 7:21 PM_ **

Jonah’s house was the default hangout spot. It was big, it had its own game room, and the Beck parents were almost always out for some event or date night. It was the perfect place to reconnect with some friends and just... unwind after an incredibly stressful week.

Or, in Cyrus’s case, the perfect place to curl into a ball, take up an entire love seat, and try to figure out where his life had gone wrong.

This was a mistake.

Waking up that morning had been a mistake. Going to school had been a mistake. Putting on his most comfortable black sweatpants and his favorite dinosaur hoodie with the hood pulled practically over his eyes was a mistake. Thinking it would help to spend time with his loud, loud, so very loud friends... was a mistake.

Isolating himself in his room would probably be a mistake too.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter, and it didn’t make sense.

_I think I need some time to myself. its not your fault but... I think maybe its just going too fast for me. Sorry._

He'd moved past the point of staring at his phone, glaring at the words on the screen as if they would somehow give him the answers if he just looked long enough. They didn't. It didn't help. It was just as useful to use his time staring into empty space. He still had no idea what made TJ change his mind—assuming he had changed his mind, and hadn't just been fucking around from the start. All he knew was that he was miserable. He was hurt. And everything in the world seemed to be custom made to force him to think about it even more.

His friends talking about girls. The music Jonah played in the car. Even the clothes he was wearing—the hoodie really was a mistake—all made him think of TJ. Made him think about the obvious lack of TJ. 

He didn't know who he was more upset at: TJ for ditching him—'dumping' sounded wrong, and made him feel sick, and was way too presumptuous—or himself, for falling so far down the hole so quickly. He should have known better than to trust someone so much.

"Hey, Cy," Jonah's voice broke through the fog a bit. Not enough to get him to stop thinking about TJ, but enough to at least get him to look up from that weird spot on the carpet he'd been staring at for the past ten minutes. 

Enough to provoke a nod in response—words had been mostly out of his reach all day.

"I'm outta beer," Jonah held up an empty brown bottle as Marty and Gus's fight over Super Smash Bros. raged on beside him. "Wanna go get some more from the garage with me?"

Cyrus's eyes dropped from the face of his best friend to his own untouched bottle sweating on the coffee table. Getting drunk was one mistake he did not plan on making.

"Nah, I'm good." His voice was crackly, which annoyed him slightly. It almost sounded like he'd been crying all day. He hadn't. He hadn't shed a single fucking tear over TJ-fucking-Kippen. 

"No, like I need your help," Jonah was standing, collecting a handful of empties but never taking his eyes off Cyrus. 

When Cyrus didn't respond, Jonah reached down to grab him under the arm, face stoic as he tugged the smaller teen off the loveseat. "Come on."

Deciding it would be more work to say no than it was to walk to the garage, Cyrus followed. Reluctantly. And Silently. But Jonah seemed unbothered, not even looking over his shoulder as he tossed the bottles in the recycling bin and walked into his garage.

"Alright," Cyrus sighed, glancing around the over-packed space without even trying to mask his apathy. "What do you need my help with?"

Jonah paused, scratching his head as he stared at the younger boy for a moment before speaking. "To start, maybe you wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." The words were out of his mouth before Jonah could even finish asking his question. It didn't matter how obviously false they were. It didn't matter that Jonah continued to stare at him with that doubtful look in his eyes. He didn't want to talk about this. Not with anyone. Especially not with Jonah.

"Seriously, Cy. C'mon. What's the problem."

"There's..." his voice cracked, doing an impressive job of countering his own point. Dropping Jonah's stare, leaning against the wall, and sighing probably didn't help his case either. "There's no problem."

"No way," Jonah took a step forward, more energy behind his voice, "you're not bullshitting me on this, Cy. Something's going on. You're avoiding us, or ditching out on plans all the time. You're lying—seriously, Cy, you really suck at lying. And you asked to stay over tonight, but you've barely said two words since you got here. Even Marty can't get a rise out of you. You're not yourself, lately. So don't tell me there's 'no problem.'"

"I'm not avoiding you. Okay? I just... this has nothing to do with you." As he spoke, Cyrus's voice grew quieter. More mumbly. 

"Dude, just tell me what's going on," Jonah shook his head, taking a few steps closer until he was within arms reach and Cyrus could feel the pit in his stomach starting to twist again. "Maybe I can help. I want to help. You're my best friend—and I assume I'm still your's, yeah?"

Cyrus nodded—short, quick, almost invisible.

"Then let me help you."

When Cyrus looked up from the ground, he was met with the full intensity of Jonah's stare, the intensity behind his eyes, the way they seemed almost unnaturally blue—it was a lot to take in. It was too much. But he couldn't look away. 

He wanted so badly to believe his best friend—to let himself think that Jonah could help. If not help with TJ than at least help with the emptiness and pain and confusion he had in his chest. But there was so much Jonah didn't understand. So much he wasn't ready to say. He had made a mistake when he decided to tell Reed anything—not only because it ended with his roommate upset at him, not only because it didn't accomplish what he wanted, but because he had no idea what to say. It was pointless. There was no way he could get Jonah to understand—to understand what he felt for TJ, to understand the fear tightening around his chest, to understand his sadness.

What could Jonah do?

"Dude, I..." Cyrus shook his head, attempting to clear his throat before looking Jonah in the eye and praying that he could keep his voice steady. "If there was something going on, I'd tell you."

He could see in Jonah's eye that he didn't believe him.

"Right."

"Seriously." Cyrus tried to stand up straighter, tried to put a little more energy behind his voice. "There's nothing."

"Cy..." Jonah's voice was quiet as he shuffled a step back. 

"Nothing! I promise. And I just want to be here and enjoy a night with my friends—with my best friend—and... yeah. That's all." Summoning all the waning energy he had, Cyrus forced a smile onto his lips and reached over to slap Jonah's shoulder. 

He couldn't talk about it, and he didn't want to ruin everyone's night, so he would just... get over it. He just needed time.

"Yo!" Marty's booming voice carried through the garage door, providing a welcome distraction from the tense silence. "You two making out back here?"

With a peal of Gus's hyper laughter, the door flew open—bouncing against the wall and probably leaving a dent—to reveal their two friends with some very excited smiles on their faces.

"Big news, gentlemen!" Marty continued to speak much louder than necessary, a hand held dramatically to his chest as he announced himself. "I just got a text, and—"

"Big, huge, gigantic party at Iris's tonight," Gus interrupted, the smile not dropping from his face even as Marty shoved him into the garage. "It's on everyone's stories, half the school is there, and we need to be there, too."

"Buffy is there," Marty added, squeezing Gus's shoulder as he shook the smaller teen. "She's there, and I can feel it—tonight is the night! This is my chance!"

"Oh absolutely," Gus nodded, turning to smile at each of them in turn. "This is definitely your night! You got this, Marty! So we're going, right?"

"Cyrus, can you get us in?"

They seemed so happy. Which made Cyrus feel even worse as he dragged his hand down his face.

"No."

"No!" Marty's confusion was as obvious as his disappointment. "Are you serious? What do you mean, no?"

"Iris and I are..." Cyrus sighed, glancing up at Jonah before shaking his head. "We're not exactly on speaking terms right now."

_Because I abandoned her to go make out with a guy. And haven't spoken to her since._

"No, no, no," Gus waved his hands out in front of him, voice surprisingly confident as he walked over to pull Cyrus to his side. "You've just convinced yourself of that, haven't you. I bet you two had an argument, and now you think she never wants to talk to you again? It's all in your head, man!"

"Please, Cyrus, you can't do this to us." Marty was practically babbling as he stepped in front of them. "You owe me! You owe me for my birthday. You can't just give up and leave us hanging!"

"That's true!" Gus glanced up, holding out a hand for Marty's high-five. "That's very true. You do owe him. In fact, you owe all of us."

"Guys..." Jonah sounded hesitant, but it was too late.

They'd said the magic words—they played on Cyrus's guilt. It was like a knife to his stomach. Icy. Cold. Unignorable. He already knew he was a shitty person and a shitty friend, but Gus's words made his stomach twist. He had to try to make up for it where he could, right? And, honestly, how bad could it be? If the party was as big as they said, he could just disappear into a corner until the urge to leave became unbearable.

He had to do this.

"No, Jo. It's... fine."

"It's fine? Like, fine-fine? Like, yes let's go?" Marty was practically climbing over Gus's shoulder, pushing the smaller teen into the ground with his exuberant energy.

Cyrus did not want to do this.

"...Yeah."

The other teens' celebration was loud enough to deafen anyone within a fifty-foot radius, obnoxious cheering that simultaneously made Cyrus regret his decision and also feel like he was doing something good for the first time all day. He didn't want to do this, but as his friends went back to the house to gather their stuff, and Jonah gave him one last questioning look, he began tried to put that dread aside. Tried to steel himself for what was ahead.

This was going to be a long night. 

**_Friday, 8:17 PM_ **

Iris's house was a medium-sized, nicely kept home in a suburb only a few blocks away from Jonah's house. Close enough that walking made more sense than worrying about a designated driver. Even if Cyrus didn't still know the address, the pumping music and crowd of teens were more than enough to identify their goal from two blocks away. The place was filled with kids, throbbing with music, and—based off the puking senior on the driveway—absolutely saturated with alcohol. 

Cyrus began to feel overwhelmed before they even crossed the street.

Marty's incessant talking wasn't helping.

"You're sure I look good, guys? Hows my hair? Fuck, do you hear that? This party's gonna be amazing! Where do you think Buffy is? How's my breath? Breath check! Gus, you asshole! Tell me if my breath stinks!"

There was no one at the front of the house, but the four of them followed a trail of intoxicated teens to the back door, through which they could see an ocean of teens as they chatted and drank and danced. A few people gave Marty's babbling a stare—he tried to give one very drunk senior a high five—but for the most part, there were way too many people for them to draw much attention.

It was a party that was just begging to be broken up by the police.

"Alright," Cyrus nodded, letting his friends walk in front of him as he stopped at the edge of the driveway. "I don't think you need me anymore. I'm just gonna—"

"No way!" Before he could react, Marty was grabbing his shoulder and tugging him forward with more strength than Cyrus could resist. "You need a fucking drink worse than any of us, and I know how to make you a strong one. Have you ever had a Long Island? No leaving until you—"

"Woah there, fellas. Let's calm down, now." Marty nearly tripped over a lanky teen who was leaning on the doorframe, effectively blocking their way with a tipsy looking smile and surprisingly deep voice. Cyrus thought he looked like someone from the basketball team, but he wasn't exactly on the pep squad.

"We're just—" Marty tried to step past, but the teen seemed to unfold himself, growing a few more inches as he stood himself in the center of the doorway. "Just trying to get in."

"And who exactly are you?" He was either drunk, or he had a Southern drawl—or both—and his chest puffed up as he eyed the four of them. He was clearly having fun.

"C'mon guys," Cyrus muttered. This guy was one obstacle more than he was willing to put up with. "Let's just go."

"We're Iris's friends," Gus answered, shushing Cyrus. For some reason the guy in the door just laughed, shaking his head as he glanced over his shoulder. Behind him, Cyrus could see the dense crowd of other teens. Chatting with each other, dancing, drinking—overall, everyone seemed to be having a good time. It was the last place he wanted to be.

"Sorry fellas, this party is at capacity. Maybe you can come back a little—"

"Buffy! Buffy!" Past the self-proclaimed bouncer, Cyrus could see the athletic teen making her way down a flight of stairs, catching sight of their group as Marty continued to call her name. "Buffy! Hi! I'm here! I'm—this asshat is about two seconds from getting his ass beat if he doesn't let us in but if you could just help us out here."

The basketball captain paused at the foot of the stairs, visibly weighing her options for a moment before rolling her eyes and nodding. She was just about to grab the asshole-teen's shoulder when—

"Hey!" Suddenly another face popped up on the other side of the door—with an excited smile and long blonde hair, Maria eagerly waved at Marty as she pushed herself next to Buffy. "You're the guy who held my hair that time! At Libby's party!"

Marty's smile dropped as Buffy's eyebrows rose. The awkwardness was palpable—though a bit confusing—as the older teen glanced from Maria to Buffy and back again.

"Nope."

"Yeah! You were so great! I never got a chance to thank you!"

"Oh. Okay." Buffy paused, eyebrows still raised as she pulled her hand back to her shoulder. "So you go around and help just any puking girl."

"Uh... no?" The teen in the door chuckled at Marty's obvious discomfort. "No, no, Buffy! I—"

"Mmm yeah. Okay," Buffy scoffed, reaching forward to grab a very confused Maria's arm. "Come on girl, we'll see them inside."

As Marty called after Buffy, the basketball player handily keeping him back with a drunken smile, Cyrus watched the two girls disappear into the next room. He wondered who would break first—the kid in the door getting bored, Marty getting pissed, or everyone else giving up. It wasn't like he actually wanted to get into the party. He'd done his part, he got his friends there, he didn't feel quite as shitty about himself. He was done. He would be perfectly happy heading back to Jonah's and watching a movie.

And that's exactly what he was about to propose—as Gus assured Marty that Buffy's jealousy was a good thing—until something caught his eye.

Or, more accurately, someone.

Bouncing to the music, lit up from behind by something purple, and carrying a very full looking plastic cup, TJ stepped into view at the end of the hallway. Visible for just a second before someone passed in front of Cyrus's view, and then he was leaning against the wall, laughing with that too-big smile as he talked to someone Cyrus couldn't see. Clearly having a great time. Clearly not emotionally distraught in the least.

The guy in the door was so focused on Marty, he wasn't ready for someone much smaller to try to push through.

In the back of his mind, he knew his friends were cheering for him as he dove headfirst into the crowd of people, but all he could think about was TJ—the older teen was no longer in the hallway, but Cyrus pushed through the crowd to get there, anyway. Eyes wild as he searched faces, hair, bodies, frantically trying to find any sign of the other boy.

The dread in his chest, the fluttering and twisting and heaviness that had been possessing him all day, it was screaming at him.

He had to find TJ.

And it wasn't so hard. After all, he was just a guy in a party. Not like he could disappear into thin air. By the time Cyrus got to the end of the hallway, he caught sight of TJ chatting with someone in another room. He was so close—Cyrus was so close. He felt more energetic than he had all day as he prepared himself to walk up and—

The crowd shifted, and suddenly Cyrus could see who TJ was talking to, and smiling at, and laughing with.

And Cyrus's questions didn't matter anymore.

Because it was Kira.

It was Kira, and the two of them were smiling at each other, and then nodding, and then grabbing TJ's hoodie and Kira's bag, and then walking toward the front door, and then...

Cyrus could only stand there, watching, silently screaming inside his own head as someone in pink shirt pushed pat him.

"Are you serious right now? Are you seriously here, at my house?"

Cyrus wasn't sure how long he'd been staring at an empty wall when Iris's face made sense of itself in front of him. Her understandably, justifiably angry face. She looked good—her hair was up, her blouse went with her eyes, and as she looked at Cyrus with utter disbelief, he noticed that the pimple that had been on her cheek the previous week had disappeared.

That was nice.

"Iris?"

"What the hell, Cyrus! You have no right to be here. You can't be here." Cyrus shook his head, trying to reel himself back in as the brunette's voice grew in volume. "Serious, Cyrus, you need to get out of my house."

"Iris. Wait. Please, I'm sorry about last week," The younger teen wasn't even sure what his goal was anymore. He'd have to be an idiot to think he could somehow salvage their relationship. He'd have to be pathetic to even want to try. But, returning Iris's stare, he just needed something—anything—to not be fucked up. "I shouldn't have run off like that, I know. I didn't think—"

"Last week!" Iris shook her head. Not just angry; she was completely done. She was disgusted. "Cyrus, last week can go fuck itself. I don't even know how to care about that, you utter asshole! You've been making a fool out of me for weeks!"

What could he even say to that? She was right. He was horrible.

"Iris—"

"No! Fuck you! You don't get to use me just to hide the fact that you're gay!"

It felt like the world stopped. But, of course, it didn't. The party continued on around them. It just didn't matter.

"No..." it was more a whisper than anything else. It was all he could force out as his heart plummeted in his chest. "What are you..."

"You're gay, Cyrus!" Iris was shouting now. People were staring. He couldn't look away from the anger in her eyes but he knew people were staring. 

"Please. Don't..."

Somehow, that was once again the wrong thing to say. Iris took a step back, looking stunned and confused and somehow even angrier. And then she was stomping away, going somewhere else, leaving Cyrus to stand in the middle of a crowd. Leaving him alone. 

And now he could see them staring. He felt like the whole party was staring at him.

He needed to get out. He needed to get out right that moment—before anyone else saw him, before anyone could start talking about what Iris had just said, before anyone could try to talk to him. He needed to leave—stumbling over his own feet, he crashed into the back of the teen still standing in the door, tripped into Jonah as his best friend caught him from falling.

"Cy, are you—"

It was too much—even Jonah was too much. His brain was overloaded. He shoved himself away from his friend before he knew what he was doing.

"Whoa, hey dude, chill."

"Let him go," Gus's voice muttered as Cyrus stumbled down the stairs. 

"Dude—"

"No, let him go. He's probably having Mommy issues again, it's—"

Anger was not a familiar emotion for Cyrus. Frustration, annoyance, aggravation, those he dealt with every day. But as he heard Gus's words, his lightly mocking tone, his muttering about being annoyed, Cyrus felt something new. Something more. He saw red. The world had just fallen out from under him for the second day in a row, and all he could feel was fire. Fire and emptiness. He just wanted Gus to shut up. He wanted all of them to shut up. But words weren't enough.

So he spun around, took a step up to the red-haired teen, and shoved him against the wall.

Marty's response was immediate, shoving Cyrus back down the stairs and almost onto the ground. His three friends stared down at him, confused and surprised and angry—and it was just too much.

So he turned.

"Cyrus!" He heard a shuffle as Jonah's voice called out.

"No, dude, fuck him. The fuck! Let—seriously, just let him go! He's been driving me nuts for weeks! Every damn—look at Gus's glasses!"

The pit in his stomach was rotten, was huge and heavy and made him feel sick as he stumbled around the corner of the house. He didn't want to be there. He didn't want to be anywhere. he wanted to apologize. He wanted to run away.

He had no idea what the fuck to do.

Marty's ranting could still be heard as he rounded the corner, still driving spikes of guilt into his brain. Even as the words faded, as he tripped into the front yard, he couldn't shake it. Couldn't shake that feeling swelling inside his chest—the anger, the sadness, the self-hatred.

He fucked it up. He fucked it all up.

And then Cyrus saw TJ, saw him smiling as he leaned Kira against the front porch, saw her tug at the neck of his shirt. Saw them kiss.

So he did the only thing that seemed to make sense.

He ran.

He ran until he was alone. He ran until his lungs couldn't stand it anymore, he ran until he had to lean against a tree just to keep from falling. Until his heaving breaths turned into rough, loud, wet sobs as that emptiness inside him finally began to force itself out. It was too much, too much to stand, too much even to sit at the base of the tree. He could barely breathe, tears tracked down his cheeks, nose running, knees held to his chest.

TJ. Reed. Jonah, Marty, and Gus.

He'd screwed up.

He was alone.


	6. Insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are you supposed to do when it feels like everything you've relied on is falling apart? Who are you supposed to turn to?

**_Monday: 7:48 AM_ **

As Cyrus stepped through the entry gate of his school, everything hurt.

His hand hurt—quite a lot, in fact—a white bandage wrapped loosely around his palm, covering the scabs of a wound he didn't even remember receiving. He vaguely recalled slamming his hand against the rough bark of a tree. Or maybe it was the sidewalk he’d punched as he'd sobbed on the ground Friday night. Whatever the source, he couldn't actually recall the pain of his skin tearing that night. It wasn't until Amber pointed it out the next morning—quiet, concerned, and surprisingly uninquisitive—that the stinging and throbbing even registered in his mind. The bandage wasn't exactly making anything better, but it at least kept others from having to see the evidence of his stupidity.

His head hurt. A dull, persistent pounding that seemed to get worse with every step he took and every sound he heard. That was either caused by being up and standing on less than two hours of sleep, or by trying to go about his day on the approximately six hundred calories he'd consumed over the previous two days. Maybe it was both. It didn't matter either way. He couldn't exactly force himself to sleep, and the thought of actually walking into the school made his stomach twist so hard that solid food was out of the question as well.

The worst pain, unfortunately, was in his chest. Someone more sentimental might say it was in his heart, but he knew that the truth was that it was just his anxiety. Outside of Amber's concerned glances and attempt to get him some dinner, Cyrus hadn't spoken to another person in the past forty-eight hours, and the idea of that changing was somehow even more terrifying. He didn't even want to find Jonah, or Gus, or Marty. He could already picture their glaring faces—the anger, the well-deserved hatred. The disgust. Or maybe they'd just laugh at him, giggle behind their hands at the stupid gay boy who thought he could keep his secret. He could feel the stares as he walked through the courtyard. They were coming from every direction.

_'You're gay, Cyrus!'_

Half the school had been at that party, at least thirty teens in close enough proximity to hear Iris yelling at him, and who knew how many more had heard it from the grapevine. Jefferson was just like any other American high school—gossip spread like wildfire, and the juicier and more personal it was, the faster word traveled. Maybe being gay wasn't such big news in 2019, but being gay and taking advantage of a lovable, kind, friendly senior to try to lie about it? That would be enough to get someone's attention. Even if it was slow, it would spread.

Those sophomores laughing in the corner? The senior who caught his eye for just a second before quickly looking away? The girls whose whispering got quiet as he passed? Any one of them could’ve known the truth, might’ve heard it from someone who heard it from someone. Every one of them made his stomach twist around in pain. All it took was a look, a glance, a smirk, to send the chill even further into Cyrus's chest.

All it took was seeing everyone chatting with their friends to make him feel even more alone.

He just needed to put his head down, go to his locker, and pray that he was just boring enough for everyone to ignore.

"Cyrus! Hey!"

Andi Mack was the last person that he expected to come running up to him, to pull him into a hug with a huge smile on her face. Cyrus regarded her with suspicion, trying to pry into her motivations as she happily bounced in front of him. Did she know? If she knew, wasn't she the type of person to get mad at him for using Iris? And if she didn't, why was she even coming up to him?

"How was your weekend? Not too crazy, I hope. Mine was... yeesh—we do not have enough time to go into that. Oh, wow! Hey, have you been working out?" Looking extremely over-impressed, Andi began to poke at Cyrus's chest and biceps. It was weird. And obviously fake. Everyone who knew Cyrus Goodman knew that 'skinny, weak, and unathletic' were three of his most accurate descriptors. "Seriously, you're looking good, Cy, whatever you're doing, definitely keep it up. I mean, congratulations, and—oh, what happened?"

Andi reached down to grab for Cyrus's injured hand, the half a second of examination sending a jolt of pain up his arm and finally making things too weird for Cyrus not to respond.

"Okay, what do you want, Andi?" He allowed the full force of his exhaustion to reveal itself in his words as he yanked his hand away. It wasn't like he had any reason to pretend. Soon the whole school would know what kind of person he was, anyway.

"Uh... okay. Okay," Andi held up her hands, a guilty smile on her lips as she took a step back, "You caught me. I do have a favor to ask of you. Just a small one. For the common room."

"Right."

Cyrus found that actually looking at the black-haired girl's energetic smile was almost painful—it somehow drained his energy even faster than getting up that morning. She was looking at him like everything was completely normal. He had to look away before something inside him cracked.

"You know we're still doing some renovations, still changing stuff up, so, anyway, Libby found a free couch online this weekend, and we could really use your help going to grab it." Cyrus let his eyes wander around the courtyard as Andi spoke. The gathering of boys in the corner, the group girls walking past—was Jonah in any of them? Was Iris? "It's only like half a mile away, but we need one more person—and don't tell Buffy I said this, but I would really appreciate having a guy there just in case the person we're getting it from is a creep."

Surprisingly enough, no one seemed to be paying the two of them any mind. Maybe the word hadn't spread as fast as he'd feared. It was only Monday morning. Maybe there was still time before anyone cared.

"So, what do you say? After school Wednesday? Are you free?"

"Hmm?" Cyrus shook his head, suddenly realized that he was being asked a question.

"The couch. Wednesday. Can you help? Right after school, I promise it'll only take, like, an hour. And Libby can probably drive you home afterward if you need."

"Oh. Um..." He tried to evaluate the expectant look Andi was giving him one more time. To see if she was hiding something from him, or maybe purposefully ignoring what had happened on Friday. But she looked... uncomplicated. Like she truly was just asking a sort-of-friend for a favor. "Yeah. I can help."

"Thank you!" The sudden hug and squeal of joy triggered his panic, and Cyrus just froze as the other teen stepped back with a wide smile on her face. "Okay, I'll text you if the plan changes, but otherwise see you right here on Wednesday after school. Seriously, though, thanks, Cy."

"Yeah... No problem." Cyrus glanced around again. Even after Andi's outburst, no one was looking their way.

"Awesome! Alright, well, see you in Bio!" with a wave, Andi skipped backward, spinning around to enter the school doors before disappearing into the large crowd of students trying to put off the start of their week until the last possible moment.

Opting not to look for anyone else, Cyrus followed her lead, pushing his way through to get to his locker.

Even if no one was looking at him—yet—he was just going to keep his head down, get through the day, and not cause a scene.

He just wanted to be ignored.

**_Monday, 3:36 PM_ **

After Andi, no one had said a word to him all day. Even the teachers seemed to ignore him. Maybe it was the way he was holding himself—withdrawn and curled in on himself so as to be as small as possible whenever he could. Maybe body language really was powerful. Or maybe it was because he hadn't tried to start any conversations of his own accord. But being ignored had done nothing to stop Cyrus's anxiety spiking—over and over, every time someone glanced his way. It didn't keep that pit of fear from growing. That feeling of waiting for the ball to drop. It made him question the intentions of every person he passed by. And as he was paced anxiously in front of the gym, watching the faces of everyone that passed, the fact that no one was looking his way did nothing to calm his nerves.

The question still remained. Were people ignoring him because they were clueless? Or were they ignoring him because they knew everything?

He searched for answers in the eyes of everyone who looked his way. Did they think he was sad? Pathetic? Loathsome? Or just... unimportant.

He had no idea.

He needed to know.

There was only one person he could think of who could give him the answer—the one person at the school who had the most motivation to spread rumors about him. And it was a bad idea—a truly, amazingly stupid idea—he knew that. But it wasn't like he could really make things any worse for himself.

"Iris!"

The older girl's hair flew around as she spun, cutting short her conversation with a senior girl Cyrus knew from his Latin class—Cassandra or something like that—to turn to face him. It only took a second for Cyrus to be reminded of why this was a mistake. The fire that flared up behind her eyes as he jogged toward her sent a chill down his spine. Even as she spun on her heel and tried to walk away, he could still feel the anger. He knew it was directed entirely toward him.

"Iris, please—"

"Stay away from me, Cyrus."

"I know—Look, I know."

"Seriously," Iris stopped of her own accord, turning to face him once again with anger overflowing every word. Around them, the sea of students pressed on, moving to the parking lot, the exit, the gym —utterly uninterested in the lover's spat happening just inside the gate. "Is there something wrong with you? Or what—have you just decided to make my life a living hell for the fun of it?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just—" Cyrus paused. He was making her life a living hell? Sure she had gone through a shitty breakup, but he was the one who had to worry about being outed! "I just need to talk to you."

"Tough shit! I have nothing to say to you!" Iris threw her hands into the air, frustration oozing from her glare as she stared down the younger teen. "Unless you're looking for someone to tell you how much of an asshole you are!"

"No—Iris, please." Cyrus caught himself reaching for Iris's hand; he stopped that instinct cold before he sank himself into even deeper shit.

"What! What could you possibly want from me?" He had never felt so much pure rage directed solely at him. He wasn't sure how to react, all he knew was that it made him want to run and vomit, made his soul shrink in on itself.

"I need to know who you told," Cyrus's voice was quiet compared to Iris's, almost like he was whispering. He couldn't do this—he couldn't come at this with any level of confidence or power. Not while Iris was looking at him like that. "What you said on Friday, I just... It's not true, Iris. It's not true, and I need to know who you told so that I can make sure they understand that."

It was a ridiculous claim—no one in their right mind would believe him—but it was the only one he felt able to make.

"Oh my God," Iris crossed her arms in front of her chest, rolling her eyes as she shifted in front of him. "Are you serious right now?"

"Yes, Iris. Please. I..." Cyrus swallowed around the lump in his throat, tried to force a believable amount of confidence into his assertion. "I'm not gay."

"Of course." Her words were muttered, half in disbelief, half in frustration.

"I don't know where you got the idea," Cyrus lied. So much lying, and, based on the look that Iris was giving him, this one sucked just as bad as all the others. "But it's not true, please, you can't go around telling people that it is."

"So that's it?" Iris shrugged, arms still crossed over her chest. "No... apology. You're not going to try to explain yourself, or make sure I'm okay, or anything like that? Right, of course not. You just want to protect yourself. Why would I even think you might care at all? Well, fuck you, Cyrus Goodman."

"No! Iris, I—"

"No! I don't care!" Iris was shouting again, arms thrown wide and taking up as much space as possible. "I don't give a rat’s ass about what you want. Get it? I'm going to say whatever I want, to whomever I want, about whatever I want!"

"But—"

"You don't get to say shit about it—you definitely don't get to tell me what to do! I owe you nothing, Cyrus. Go fuck your boyfriend for all I care—just leave me the fuck alone."

Before Cyrus could respond, Iris was turning around, stomping away, disappearing around a corner without even looking back at the devastated teen she was leaving behind. His head was pounding, her words echoing like bombs detonating inside his skull. Even pressing his hands to his ears, to his temples, couldn't block it out. It was all so loud.

So very, very loud.

There were still students moving around him, though the major exodus had dwindled to a steady trickle of teens just trying to get home. Who knew how many had heard their fight, how many had paused to watch him get what he deserved. Iris's friend surely had, though as he scanned the crowd the girl with the curly hair was nowhere to be seen. 

In fact, no one was looking his direction. For the moment, he counted that as a blessing. It meant he had a chance to collect himself, to get his breathing under control and try to make himself stand a little taller. It gave him the chance to turn around and run back into the school. He needed to go to his locker—even if he didn't need a quiet place to think, he still needed a few books for the night. But most of all, he needed to be alone.

He definitely didn't need to find his best friend standing there, leaning against his locker door, staring at him with a bored look on his face as Cyrus walked down the hallway. Those big, impossibly blue eyes drilling into him was the last thing Cyrus needed. But Jonah was there, and he was putting his phone away and pushing himself up from the wall. Jonah was turning to face him, and, obviously, it didn't matter what he needed. This was going to happen whether Cyrus was ready for it or not.

He tried to force his stomach to stop twisting, tried to calm his nerves, tried to get himself ready for... to be honest, he wasn't sure what to expect. He felt like he knew what he deserved—he deserved Jonah's anger at the very least—but it was always so difficult to predict how his best friend was going to handle something.

At least he was confident that it couldn't go worse than his conversation with Iris.

"Hey."

It was a simple greeting, totally neutral as the older teen looked him up and down.

"Hey."

"Are you doing okay?" Cyrus saw Jonah's eyes linger on his hand for just a second before jumping back up to look him in the face. Even as he asked, Jonah didn't sound particularly concerned. Like he was just checking in. Like it wasn't a big deal.

"Yeah," Cyrus lied, shoving his hand into his jeans and trying not to wince as the bandage caught on a belt loop. "I'm fine."

"Mmm," Jonah hummed, a tight-lipped smile as he nodded at his friend. Even in his stressed, sleep-deprived state, Cyrus could feel the strain, could see the frustration building behind the other teen's stare.

And then there was an awkward silence. It fell over them like a thick, wet blanket—especially uncomfortable because of how incorrect its very existence felt. Cyrus and Jonah never had uncomfortable silences. They could spend hours in each others' presence without saying a word and still know that everything was fine. But that wasn't the case as they stood in that mostly deserted second floor hallway. Cyrus could feel the tension, the awkwardness. Jonah was tugging on the strap of his bag, keeping his eyes on Cyrus's face but otherwise... nothing. 

It was obvious he was waiting for something. Waiting for Cyrus. If only the younger teen had any idea of what to say.

"I, um..." Cyrus sighed. He was tired. His head was throbbing. His stomach felt sour. He couldn't come up with a magic response that would fix everything. He could barely stand to meet Jonah's eyes. All he could think of was the obvious: an apology. "I'm sorry about Friday, man. I understand if Marty and Gus are mad, I just—"

"No one's mad, bro." Cyrus looked up as Jonah waved away his concern, but the older teen wasn't actually looking straight at him—those striking blue eyes were off, looking over his shoulder as if something over there might answer Jonah's questions. "We're just trying to figure out what the... what the fuck's going on. Man."

"I know." Cyrus looked to the ground again, tried to convince himself that looking at Jonah's shoes was almost as good as meeting his eyes. "I know, and I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Jonah just nodded. And it was back to square one—the awkward silence, Jonah shifting his weight from one foot to the other, playing with the straps of his back. Once again, Cyrus had no idea how to respond. What was he supposed to tell his friend who was clearly waiting for him to give some sort of explanation? How was he supposed to answer that question?

What the fuck was going on?

If he didn't already know—if his best friend hadn't already heard the truth from someone else—Cyrus knew in his gut that he wasn't ready to tell him. He couldn't even look Jonah in the eye, how could he possibly explain everything that was he was dealing with? No, that would only end in disaster. It would only screw even more things up, just like it had every time he'd let someone in on the truth. There was too much back story, too much risk that Jonah wouldn’t understand. So, no. He wasn't about to answer Jonah's question.

At least not with the truth.

But he needed to say something. He needed to answer the question so that they could get past this. So that he could have his friend, have someone at his back. Maybe then he could find a way to deal with his... stuff.

"Things are... It's getting really bad again, with my mom—just with my family entirely, and—"

"No." Jonah shook his head, sighing before looking up to fix Cyrus with another stare. "No, c'mon, Cy. Don't do that to me. I may not know what's going on, but I do know that it's more than just your parents. More than just your mom."

"You're right," Cyrus nodded, feeling his throat close up at his admission. Jonah's tone was just... so disappointed. He couldn't stand it. He may not have known what to do but he couldn't handle having his friend look at him like that anymore. Admitting he'd been lying may not have been the same as telling the truth, but at least it made Jonah's eyes soften. Just a bit.

"Then what is it, man?"

"It's..." Cyrus sighed, the twisting in his stomach lurching even worse as Jonah took a half step forward. It was too much. He couldn't do it. "It's nothing. You wouldn't understand."

His words came out so quiet, he was almost surprised that Jonah could hear them. But the other teen's response was immediate.

"I won't understand?" Jonah asked, exasperated and filled with frustration toward his younger friend. "I don't—Jesus, Cyrus. What the... You're really going to stand there and tell me, even though I'd have to be an idiot to believe you, that you're not going through some shit right now? That it's nothing? Cyrus, I'm not dense, okay? You're having problems and you don't want to talk about them? Fine."

There was a pause as Jonah ran a hand through his hair, turned away for half a second before coming back to face Cyrus again.

"I've been waiting for you to explain yourself—like an idiot, I guess—but I'm not going to beg. Okay? I thought we were better friends than that."

"I'm sorry..."

"So stop apologizing!" Jonah threw his hands out in exasperation. "Seriously, man. Saying you’re sorry doesn't mean shit if you're not actually going to fix the problem. Either tell the truth, or make things right, or... just stop with the excuses and the lies. Please."

Cyrus barely caught himself before he let another apology escape his lips. As his friend stared at him, blue eyes tired and frustrated, he could feel himself shutting down. He could feel something welling up in the back of his throat. The pressure behind his eyes was building again.

He wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold it in—opening his mouth to speak seemed like a sure-fire way to make a fool of himself. So he nodded instead.

"Seriously, Cy. I just want you to be in a better place, to stop acting like an idiot and fucking yourself over. I'm worried about you, man." Jonah's tone was softer, like maybe he knew he was pushing too hard, but it was still too much for Cyrus to be able to meet his eyes. "So if you want to talk, seriously, man, I'm here. Whenever you need me. If you don't—if you just want to fix whatever's going on by yourself, fine. Let us know when you do, I'll buy you a fucking beer to celebrate. But just no more lying, okay? No more bullshit. We'll be here when you're ready but we're not going to put up with you pushing your shit onto us. Alright?"

For some reason, the silence felt less awkward as Cyrus did his best to swallow down the welling in his throat.

"Okay." It was barely more than a creak. A whisper, really. But it was enough. Jonah paused, giving his friend one last chance to come clean. 

And when Cyrus stayed silent, the older boy nodded, turned on his heel, and walked away.

**_Tuesday, 12:06 PM_ **

Three days without solid food was apparently Cyrus's limit. 

He couldn't do anything about his inability to sleep—even asking to borrow Amber's orthopedic pillow had only granted him an extra half-hour of slumber at most—but he could make himself eat. Even if his body felt so confused about the idea of food that his favorite dish, tater tots, failed to make his mouth water, Cyrus was going to eat. He was going to eat lunch, and drink some juice, and fill his stomach, because, if he didn't, he was probably going to faint before the end of the day. 

But first, he had to make the choice between the cafeteria’s pathetic, greasy hamburger and its dry, burnt chicken sandwich. Both came with a side of green beans, his least favorite vegetable.

It wasn’t exactly A cornucopia of offerings.

He'd been staring at the two trays, taking an embarrassingly long time to force himself to choose, when he felt something tug at the pocket of his hoodie. Behind him, a chorus of jeers and complaints started to sound from the students still in line.

Clearly, he was taking too long.

"If I were you, I'd take both."

What the fuck?

If there was a Cyrus in the multiverse that wanted to have TJ whispering those words into his ear, it wasn't him.

Cyrus tried to control his confusion, to mute his outrage as he turned to face the taller teen who had just shoved himself into the line behind him. A few of the other students waiting in the doorway were still complaining, but TJ looked entirely unbothered, reaching forward to grab a tray of french fries with a smile.

That fucking smile.

Of course. Of course, TJ was having the time of his life. He'd made it out of their little dalliance blemish-free, hadn't he? He had his fun with Cyrus—throwing the younger teen's life into chaos in the process—he'd played an engaging round of 'let's make the kid think we're serious about him,' and then he'd gone right back to the safety of his girlfriend. Maybe he'd had to sleep on the couch for a few nights, maybe he'd had to buy an apology box of chocolates, but given how Kira had eagerly pulled the older teen into a kiss at Iris's house, Cyrus got the feeling that TJ had gotten off just fine.

Just fucking fine.

"Excuse me?" Cyrus shook his head, almost unable to believe that TJ could be standing there, grinning at him, looking so carefree that part of him was actually jealous. It was an astonishingly bold move.

"The sandwiches," TJ nodded back toward the two trays that Cyrus had been blankly staring at. "I'd take both."

Cyrus looked down at the serving area, the two sandwiches staring quietly back at him and providing absolutely no explanation, and then looked back up at the blond. He got the feeling—the look TJ was giving him was way too... layered—that this didn't actually have anything to do with the sandwiches. Which, as the older teen's grin faltered momentarily, only worked to make Cyrus feel like an idiot. He could feel his chest filling with the buzzing energy of frustration and questions and confusion. Was that what TJ was trying to say? What, was he the burger while Kira was the chicken?

TJ wasn't going to make a choice? He wanted both of them?

Fuck that.

With all the confidence and strength he could muster—which, after the past few days, was not much—Cyrus turned to TJ and fixed him with a glare.

"Sometimes you have to make a choice."

The confusion in the older teen's eyes made him falter—for a second, he wondered if he'd read too much into things; maybe TJ had just been making a joke—but then the blond was back to being completely unbothered. Not a problem in the world. TJ looked back toward the other side of the serving area, eyes following the cooks with a grin still on his lips.

"Do you think they have any—"

"I'm sorry," Cyrus slammed the hamburger onto his tray, rattling himself and a few other people in line with the noise. "I can't."

He’d hoped that it would be more freeing, that it would feel more empowering to be the one to walk away for once. It wasn't, and it didn't. It felt lonely. Quiet. He suddenly found himself wondering if he was making a mistake. The urge to turn around, pulled at his chest.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to go back to the way thing had been. He wanted to feel TJ wrap him in his arms and whisper in his ear, and...

But he couldn’t. He forced himself to keep moving. To pay for his disappointing sandwich and hopefully delicious tots. He refused to look back as he walked around the corner and into the main cafeteria. He forced himself to keep walking until he was faced with the reality that, five feet into the room, he had no idea where to sit. The lunch hall was crowded, much more so than usual because of a sudden the rainstorm, and there were no completely empty tables that Cyrus could see. To his left, he could hear a booming voice—Marty, with Gus's higher-pitched scolding coming from the table they usually claimed when the courtyard wasn't an option. Jonah was there, too, sinking into a burger with a smile as he watched his two friend bicker. It looked like a pleasant lunchtime conversation. But that wasn't really an option.

They didn't want him when he was... the way he was.

Almost directly in front of him, he found himself staring at Iris. It took a second for him to even realize it was her, but then she looked his way and leaned down to whisper something in the her friend’s ear, and then Cyrus was reminded. He got the memo loud and clear.

He was alone.

The pit in his stomach made its presence known again, churning and spoiling any dregs of hunger he might have been feeling. Food suddenly seemed like a stupid idea as he watched Iris giggle, as he watched the guy next to her begin to glance around in his direction.

Standing there, frozen, seemed like a stupid idea. So too did falling into a chair at a random table. The idea of doing anything was starting to make his stomach twist. And it wasn't like he was hungry anymore.

When he slid his still-untouched tray of food onto the return belt, just looking at the sandwich and sides sent his gut twisting. Even the tater tots, golden brown and still steaming hot, made him want to sprint to the bathroom to throw up. It didn't matter that he'd already paid for them, that this was now officially a waste of money—he couldn't stay there anymore. He needed to leave.

He passed TJ on his way out.

Neither of them said a word.

**_Tuesday, 6:12 PM_ **

"Amber, will you please tell Cyrus to turn down the volume?" Without looking up from his textbook, Reed pointed across the living room at his youngest roommate and then pointed to his own ears.

There was a pause as Amber rolled her eyes, looking between the two boys with disappointment before realizing she wasn’t about to get a response.

"Cyrus," Amber sighed, voice flat as she shifted on the couch to face the younger teen. "Could you please turn down the volume? Reed is having trouble focusing."

With what he wanted to be a groan, but mostly came out as a muted sigh, Cyrus tapped at the volume key on his laptop. On another day he might have argued just to fuck with Reed a little, but he was exhausted and he didn't even really care about taking notes on the US History video anyway.

"Amber, will you please ask Reed if I can borrow one of his pens?"

"Oh my God. Seriously?” Amber waited for a response, but Cyrus refused to look up from his laptop. “Fine, whatever. Reed, can Cyrus—"

"Amber, could you please tell Cyrus to fuck off?"

"Alright, which one of you fuckers is going to stop being a baby and tell me what the hell is going on here?" With a groan of frustration, Amber stood from the couch, a wild glare jumping back and forth between her two roommates.

In all honesty, Cyrus was surprised she’d lasted as long as she did. Two days of radio silence from Reed had been followed up by two days of this style of indirect commands. He was pretty sure that if Amber hadn't been so worried about his clearly deteriorating mental state, she would have thrown a fit within the first hour.

"Sorry, my dear," Reed shrugged, still not taking his eyes off the book on the table in front of him. "We live in a 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell,' household here—if it was good enough for the military for sixteen years, it's good enough for us."

"Oh my God... are you serious right now? Cyrus? Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on between you two?"

Cyrus risked a glance at his other roommate. Reed was busy highlighting something in his book, dressed in a pair of cutoff sweatpants and no shirt as he sat at the little table on the other side of the room. He didn't look particularly angry—in fact, he hadn't seemed all that upset since the start of the week—but as the blonde glanced up to look at Amber, the truth of the matter became more obvious. He wasn't even looking in Cyrus's direction.

He'd been effectively ignoring the younger teen for days.

As awkward as that was, it was still worlds better than what he was dealing with in school. He wasn't sure why Reed had kept his admission and his fuckup quiet, but he was willing to put up with being ignored if it ensured that nothing got spread to his other roommates. If he had the option, he'd rather that his household situation not get any worse.

Cyrus shrugged, turning back to his video on the Revolutionary War without another word.

"Okay, well you two can find another idiot to play messenger. I'm out."

"Oh, don't call yourself an idiot, Amby, I thought you did a very good job of being our messenger." Reed's grin was filled with fake-innocence, only growing larger as Amber let out another frustrated yell and stomped into the kitchen.

"Holy shit! You are fucking impossible! Both of you—sometimes, I don't even know why I came back here!"

"You know," Reed tapped his nose, closing his textbook with a slam before spinning in his chair, "If you need to escape for the night, you should go stay with your parents."

"What?" Amber reappeared in the opening between the kitchen and living room, eyebrows raised and confusion in her eyes. "You trying to get rid of me already, Reed?"

"Just for one night," Reed popped up, reaching forward to grab Amber's hands in his. "I'm sure your parents won't mind a quick visit, and I would greatly appreciate the chance to clear out the living room for the night. It's a win-win... win." Reed glanced over his shoulder, giving Cyrus his first moment of direct eye-contact in days before throwing in the last 'win.'

Cyrus found himself silently agreeing with Reed’s plan—maybe a real bed would help him achieve a normal night's sleep?

"Tough shit," Amber shrugged, shaking off Reed's hands and crossing her arms over her chest. "You designed this layout, you can deal with it just like the rest of us."

"Oh but think of how many people you'll be helping," Reed picked up the tone of someone begging, even as his lips still bore his signature shit-eating grin. "The poor, unfortunate souls."

"No, Reed. I'm not... just no."

As much as Cyrus actually wanted Reed to succeed in his persuasion, he decided to remain silently seated on the couch, just watching the two of them out of the corner of his eyes. It was safer that way—Reed was the master manipulator, not him. It wasn't like he could actually say anything to help, and sounding too eager might actually convince Reed to give up.

"C'mon! Just give me one night where I don't have to see the twerp—I swear, things will go back to normal if I don't have to think about him for twenty-four hours. Probably."

Cyrus rolled his eyes as Amber leveled a glare at the other blond.

"No, Reed. I'm not just dropping in on my parents."

"Your parents are amazing! They probably miss you, they'll be ecstatic—"

"I said no!" Amber's harsh tone and sudden burst in volume seemed to ring in Cyrus's ears, making the pounding in his head ever worse as she spun on her heel and disappeared back into the kitchen. "Now fuck off, and leave me alone."

The silence that fell over the apartment was broken only by the occasional clank of a pan and running of the sink. Even Reed took a step back, obviously surprised by Amber's reaction—surprised enough to shake his head and go back to his textbook, instead of continuing to pester her. It wasn't that it was rare for Amber to get fired up enough to actually scream at Reed, or Lester, or even Cyrus. It was just that... it usually took significantly more prodding than that. It was strangely chilling to hear her react like that to what was essentially Reed's everyday annoyance. 

It was weird.

When Amber came back into the living room a few minutes later, calmly asking if either of them wanted to help her cook dinner, Reed immediately nodded, closed his book, and disappeared into the kitchen without a word. The clanging and humming and chopping that followed was almost loud enough to cover up the sounds of their muted voices—just enough to keep Cyrus from being able to actually understand what they were saying—making it pointlessly aggravating to try to eavesdrop from the living room. The two of them didn't reemerge until the food was done—baked chicken breasts and broccoli over pasta and red sauce. Enough for all three of them.

Lester would have to fend for himself, apparently.

Even though the silent remained unbroken, and Reed still wasn't looking in his direction, and Amber wouldn't stop shooting glances at him over the coffee table, the obvious awkwardness was the last thing on Cyrus’s mind. The food smelled good. As he shuffled to the ground and Amber set the plate in front of him, it looked like the most appetizing meal Cyrus had seen in days.

He cleared his plate in silence, except to say a quick 'thank you' as he asked if there was any more.

**_Wednesday, 3:47 PM_ **

"Alright," Buffy grimaced, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked up from her phone. "This is the place."

The four teens were standing in front of a strip mall—a nail salon in one corner, a tax accountant in the other. But the door labeled with the address they'd been searching for, 33207B Rush Blvd, had no identifying signage whatsoever. The windows, unlike those of the other two tenants of the building, were caged in with metal bars, various items with no particular theme pressed up against the glass with only darkness behind them. Even the door was a mystery, the glass was almost entirely covered with stickers and newspapers, only a few square inches of empty space showing the blackness within.

"Are you sure?" Andi spun around, glancing behind them to the other side of the busy boulevard. A nearly identical strip mall sat across for them. A Chinese restaurant, a pet store, and a psychic.

"This is the address he gave me," Libby insisted, pulling her phone out of her bag and taking a step toward the door.

"I thought you said the post was from, like, a guy. Why would we be picking it up from a store?" Cyrus asked.

The twenty-minute walk from the school to their destination had been the most social contact he'd had with other people all week. Between that and the little bit of actual food filling his stomach, it was the most human he'd felt in days. His hand still hurt, his head was still throbbing, and the bags under his eyes were impressively dark, but having the girls to chat with each other around him while they walked made him feel a tiny bit renewed. Enough to at least be able to speak.

"Maybe he's getting rid of a floor model," Buffy offered, not sounding too convinced by her own words.

"Cyrus?"

"Hmm?" he turned toward Andi, who was looking between him and the door expectantly.

"After you."

"Uh... ladies first?" The youngest of the group shrugged. taking a large step back toward the edge of the parking lot.

There was no way he was going to be the first to go into that death trap.

"Fucking hell!" Buffy rolled her eyes, pushing past Libby to grab the handle. "Look, it's not even locked. It's just a store. Let's go."

"Wait, Buff!" Andi jumped forward, grabbing the elbow of her friend just as the taller girl pulled open the door.

"What do—shit!" as soon as the door was pulled wide enough to see inside, a loud crash—clanging metal and broken glass—boomed from somewhere in the darkness. At the same time, something tan and very tall jumped out of the door and directly at Buffy.

"Fuck!" Andi yanked Buffy backward just as Cyrus and Libby grabbed the back of her vest, all four of them falling back into a pile as they tripped over each other in retreat.

Cyrus could feel his adrenaline spiking, his blood pounding in his head as they fell to the hard concrete. As was normally the case, when it came to fight-or-flight, his body was trying to fly out of there as fast as possible.

"Jesus," Buffy was the first to push herself off the pile, getting to her feet in a quick hop. "Seriously, guys? It's just a mannequin!"

"I thought it was a person!" Andi shouted, pushing herself up to get a better look at the door. Cyrus followed her lead, wincing slightly as he used his injured hand to push himself back up to standing. Sure enough, lying on the ground with a single arm reaching up toward the four of them, a flesh-toned mannequin was keeping the door propped open. It was dressed in an eclectic combination of a rhinestone jacket, fringed leather pants, and a stack of bowler hats on its head. The arm had dozens of mismatched bracelets and cloths draped over it, and the face seemed to be filled with pins of some kind.

Nothing Cyrus could see had a price tag on it—not that he was particularly looking to buy.

"Okay, everyone's pants dry? Can we please go get the couch now?"

"What is this place?" Libby asked, pointing past Buffy and through the open door. From what Cyrus could see, there was a pile of items directly on the other side of the door. Unopened Barbie dolls, newspapers, random boxes. It was completely unorganized, standing at least four feet tall. Just a pile of crap.

"Yeah, what the fuck?"

"I don't really care," Buffy sighed, pulling the door even further open and letting the light pour into the room beyond.

Everywhere Cyrus looked, there were shelves, piles, boxes stuffed with things.

"You seriously want to go in there?" Andi asked, sticking her head into the door to get a better look around. "It's like a... trash graveyard."

"I don't care what it is as long as we get our couch," Buffy answered, stepping over the mannequin with an exaggerated lunge and pushing past the colorfully dressed girl. Andi paused for a second, looking like she wanted to argue with her friend, but before she could say anything, the basketball captain was inside and disappearing around a shelf.

The three teens still standing outside exchanged looks, then Andi shrugged, and began to follow.

Whatever the room was—it definitely wasn't like any store Cyrus had ever been in—it was even more confusing on the inside. Cyrus propped the strangely-clothed mannequin to hold the door as open as possible, providing significantly more light than the dim yellow fluorescents overhead. Shelves of books, maps, and toys, each with more piles of crap visible behind them, lined what could roughly be described as a 'path' that their leader was trying to follow.

"Hello?" Cyrus thought he could hear the slightest tinge of nerves in Buffy's voice as she peered around another bookcase piled with scarves, hats, and shoes. Much more than he thought he would ever be privileged enough to see.

The tension only grew as it became clear that there wouldn't be a response.

"We're here about the couch?" Buffy called into the dimness, taking another breath before starting to trek further inside.

"Is anyone here?" Andi called. Cyrus pulled out his phone, turning on the light to illuminate the path ahead as the reached the edge of the light from the door. Even if it meant he would probably run out of battery before he got home, being able to see was more important while in the maze of trash and severed doll heads.

"C'mon, guys," Buffy turned back, grabbing Cyrus by the wrist and tugging him forward.

"Jeez, I'm coming! I—Fuck!"

Just as Cyrus looked up, his flashlight scanned over a face. Pale, and staring at him from a shelf with dull, shiny gray eyes and an open mouth. At the same time, they heard a thunk, and then a creaking noise as the light from outside slowly began to grow smaller.

"What!" Buffy screamed as Cyrus backed into her. "What is it!"

"Shit!" Was all Cyrus could articulate.

"We're getting out of here. Now! C'mon—"

"Ahhh!"

Andi's order was cut short as a man jumped out from between two of the shelves. His hair was wild, hanging down around wide white eyes, shaking as he held his scream at the four teens. Only yelling louder as Cyrus and Andi's terrified screams joined the cacophony. Then Cyrus saw the baseball bat in the man's hands, the look in his eyes even as his screaming began to fade, and he knew.

They were going to die.

"Fuck!"

"Shit! Run!"

Buffy's command was like a gun at the start of a race, and without another word, the four teens sprinted into the depths of the store.

**_Wednesday, 3:59 PM_ **

"Sorry about that," Luther scratched at the back of his head as he held out a bottle of cold water to Cyrus. The teen looked over his shoulder at the three girls, all of whom were sitting on a table, happily chatting as they broke into a bag of chips. "I had my headphones in. I didn't know anyone else was here—you kids gave me quite a scare."

Now that he wasn't holding a baseball bat and screaming like a maniac, Luther was just a tired middle-aged man, a little bit sweat-drenched as he grabbed himself a bottle of water from the minifridge packed away in the back corner of the store. But otherwise just the normal level of frightening.

"We scared you?" Buffy asked, placing her own already-drained water bottle on the table next to her.

"Sorry," Andi set down the chips, looking almost as if she felt guilty. "We thought this place was abandoned or something. We're here about the couch? This is Libby."

After a slap to her shoulder, the oldest of the group waved.

"Oh! Right, of course. My apologies. I've been so absent-minded this week, I completely forgot." Luther scratched at the back of his head again before slicking his dark hair back with his hand. "Right, so the couch is... right behind you, actually. I can get it out for you if you give me a few minutes."

Cyrus glanced over the shoulders of the girls as Buffy turned around, trying to find what could possibly be a couch in the pile of things behind them.

"Your store is... very interesting," Andi offered, looking to Buffy and Cyrus for support in between glancing around the room. They were seated in the back of the store, in a corner that was significantly cleaner than anything else they had passed, but otherwise completely surrounded by... Cyrus felt guilty thinking of it as junk, but that's exactly what it was. "I've never seen anything like it before."

"Oh, it's not my shop, you don't have to be nice," Luther chuckled, leaning against a bookcase stuffed with liquid-filled jars. "It was my brother’s. He suffered from syllogomania."

"Silly-go-what's that?" Buffy asked, turning back around with a questioning look on her face.

"He was a compulsive hoarder," Luther explained, gesturing to the store around them. "He had a... need to accumulate objects. As you can see, he was quite good at it."

"He... was?" Andi asked, leaning forward a little bit, ignoring Buffy as the other girl slapped at her shoulder and gave her an incredulous look. "Did he stop?"

"Ah, yeah, if only. No, Daniel died a few weeks ago," Luther shrugged, pushing himself away from the shelves and snatching a lava lamp from the floor with a gentle smile.

"Oh no! What happened?" Even Buffy's intensifying stare did nothing to deter Andi from her questioning.

"Oh!" Luther turned, surprise in his eyes. "I, uh... I don't know. If you want to help me search the place, maybe we can figure it out."

"What!"

"Oh God," Cyrus felt a shudder run through his spine. "Guys, lets—"

"I'm joking!" The older man literally jumped forward, hands held in a calming gesture and worried laughter on his lips. "I'm joking, guys. He died of cancer."

"Oh, thank..." Cyrus sighed, suddenly feeling completely exhausted in his relief. It was horrible, but...

"Yeah," Luther snapped, looking to Andi with another shrug."Two months, just like that."

"Oh," Buffy, glanced around the room, uncomfortable confusion on her face. "I'm... so sorry?"

"It's okay," the man shrugged. "But now I need to clear out this space, cancel the lease and all that. As you can imagine, it's... a bit complicated."

"So you're selling everything?" Andi asked, suddenly looking frighteningly interested as she scanned around the room.

"Well, not exactly," Luther sighed, taking another glance at the shelves around them before reaching over to hand the lava lamp to Libby. The older teen hugged it to her chest with a grin. "My brother was attached to everything here. It was important to him. I'm not entirely sure that it's... y'know, 'okay' for me to sell these things. Feels like it goes against his morals—he would never do it."

"So wait," Andi leaned forward again, excited energy flying behind her eyes. "Does that mean..."

"Yeah. Feel free to take what you want," Luther reached down to pick up an ancient-looking baby-doll, a large scratch going over one of the eyes, but otherwise in good condition. "The more the better, honestly. It would make me feel better to know they're not just going to the dump."

"No," Buffy, said, keeping her glare trained on Andi. "We really only need the couch."

"Are you sure? There's some great stuff in here. Paintings, some speaker systems—Oh! I know! I have a foosball table back here somewhere. Surprisingly good condition!"

"No, really, we—"

"Yes!" Andi jumped up, unable to hold back her excitement any more. "Please and thank you!"

"Andi..."

"A foosball table, Buffy!" Andi turned around, an unflinching smile as the other girl tried to stare her down. "This is exactly what the common room needs."

"It would be pretty cool," Cyrus added, taking a sip of his water while he watched the girls argue.

"See? Cyrus thinks it's a good idea too."

As Buffy groaned, Libby silently held up the lava lamp, pointing to it with a questioning look on her face.

"Of course," Luther grinned, pointing to the red blobs with a smile and nod. "It's yours."

Buffy's sigh was drowned out by the other girl's squeal. 

**_Wednesday, 4:46 PM_ **

"Okay," Andi's voice came out as more of a grunt than anything as she adjusted her grip on the foosball table. "Let's take a break."

Buffy and Libby paused with the couch, a sigh of relief coming from the older girl as they set the heavy two-seater onto the sidewalk. A few feet behind them, Andi and Cyrus did the same with the game table, taking the opportunity to wipe the sweat from their faces and grab their water bottles from where they'd fallen inside the goals.

"Alright, more than halfway there," Buffy glanced up from her phone. Cyrus rubbed at his still-bandaged hand, trying to get the feeling back into it as he and Andi stepped under the shade of the nearby tree. With a loud, satisfied sigh, Libby fell on the couch and began digging between the cushions for her lava lamp. "Let's keep this break short, I want to get home before six."

"Yes, task-master," Andi said with a fake salute.

"Oh, come off it, Mack," Buffy rolled her eyes, falling onto the couch beside Libby. "You can go back there on your own time. It'll take weeks for him to clear that space out."

"Don't worry," Andi grinned, tossing her now-empty bottle back into the table. "I intend to. Do you have any idea how many projects I could do with that kind of stuff?"

"Honestly? The thought terrifies me."

"Don't worry, Buff, I swore I'd never use doll parts again after that disaster freshman year."

"Please," Buffy grinned, turning to look at them over the back of the couch. "That monstrosity scared away my date. He never spoke to me again, you know?"

"Some people just aren't made of strong enough stuff for art," Andi shrugged. "Speaking of—hey Cyrus, how would Marty react to a six-foot-tall sculpture of a wave made out of baby-dolls."

Cyrus paused for a moment, glancing between Andi's mischevious grin and Buffy's annoyed glare before nodding his head with a smile. "I uh... I think he'd probably just be confused. Then again, so would I, so..."

"Still, sounds better than Paul," Andi grinned. "You hear that Buffy?"

"Very funny." Buffy rolled her eyes again, tapping Libby's shoulder to get the older girl to stop staring at the floating blobs in the lamp. "Libby, will you tell them to give up on me and Marty?"

"I think you should do it," Libby grinned, tucking the retro accessory between the cushions once again. "You two would be cute."

"Oh, Goddamnit," Buffy groaned, slapping the cushion beside her. "Really, guys. It's not like he's even serious about me. It's just some weird game—if I actually said yes to him, he wouldn't know what to do with himself."

"If you actually said yes to him, it might cause a tear in the space-time continuum," Cyrus replied, grinning as Andi laughed at his joke. "I think he is serious, though. If you really want to know. In my experience, he moves on from most girls in about two weeks. You're the only one I've seen last more than a month."

"Wait," Buffy sat up a little taller. "For real?"

"Oh my God!" Andi shrieked, jumping forward to fall over the back of the couch between the two girls. "You're actually interested in him aren't you!"

"What—No! No, if anything, he's some curse I've gained for being too good at basketball," Buffy shook her head, her hair bouncing slightly as she physically pushed away from her friend.

"You like him," Andi teased, her sing-song voice making Buffy even more frustrated.

"He's literally the most annoying guy I know," Buffy fake-gagged, shaking her head again.

"Yeah, but Walker's annoying, and Libby sleeps with him twenty-four seven."

"It's true," Libby nodded, fake innocence behind her mischevious grin.

"And pretty much every guy I've ever dated has annoyed me," Andi added.

"Okay, so... all I'm hearing is that you're both idiots?" Buffy laughed, taking the opportunity to stand before Andi's upside-down flailing left her with a black eye. "It's definitely not like that. At all. All you're doing is convincing me that high school boys are the worst, and I should stay single 'til college. No offense, Cyrus."

"No, I... think I agree with you," Cyrus shrugged, walking over to stand next to Buffy beside the couch. Based on his limited romantic experiences with high school boys—himself included—they did very much suck.

"That's because you're barely even a guy," Andi forced out as she flipped herself around to sit like a normal person.

Even as Andi turned to him with a smile, Cyrus could feel his blood run cold.

"What does that mean?" The tinge of anxiety that had been nearly forgotten during their almost-near-death experience flared back up. Had Andi heard the rumors? Did that mean there were rumors? And if that was the case, who was spreading them?

"It's a joke!" Andi rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she leaned against the arm of the couch. "C'mon, Cy."

"Honestly, you're lucky," Buffy grinned, bumping into his shoulder as she leaned against the back of the couch. "It must be so much easier to get to deal with girls. At least we have our damn emotions figured out."

"Ha!" Andi laughed, signing Buffy's words back to Libby who was quick to join in the laughter. "Have you met us?"

"We're pretty complicated," Libby added.

"Remeber when my mom called off her wedding for two months? Yeah. I do not envy whoever has to deal with me if I take after her."

"Don't worry," Buffy rolled her eyes. "You do."

"There, see?" Andi smiled, finally sitting up like a normal person. "Girls suck."

"Girls suck, boys suck, clearly we are all in hell, and I still don't see why I should give Marty a chance."

And as the girls all laughed, finally standing up to restart their trek to the school, Cyrus nodded. At least he could agree with that.

**_Thursday, 1:37 AM_ **

An extended sigh escaped Cyrus's lungs as he scrolled through the 'What's New' list on Netflix for what must have been the twentieth time.

The one benefit of sleeping in the living room was that he had the TV all to himself. Not that it really mattered—he had learned over the past week that his choice of late-night entertainment was ultimately unimportant. Dull, monotonous nature documentaries wouldn't help put him to sleep. High-energy action flicks wouldn't make him any more awake. Comedies didn't make him laugh. None of it mattered.

The best he could hope for was to find something that might occupy his mind for an hour or two. Keep him from having to think too much.

The nighttime was, by far, the worst time to be forced to think about things. 

He was at least smart enough to stay away from the romance section, but even love stories in other genres—why did everything require a romantic sub-plot?—were more than enough to get his brain firing. To make him think about things.

To make him think about TJ.

Crime procedurals and cold-case documentaries were pretty much his only hope. They'd helped the past few nights, letting him get at least an hour of mindless boredom on top of whatever sleep he could eke out, but whatever magic they'd been able to wield had apparently disappeared. Even as a DNA expert with a horrible eighties hairdo explained how the suspect and the killer could not possibly be the same person, Cyrus's mind was wandering away from what was on his screen. Wandering to that same place it always went when the sky was dark and the world was quiet.

What the fuck had happened?

TJ was, by far, the most confusing person he had ever met. It wasn't enough that Cyrus liked him, it wasn't enough that he had given in, had kissed him, had let himself get attached. Clearly, TJ needed more. He needed to convince Cyrus that he wanted more. Who knows, maybe he got a thrill out of it—leading a confused boy along, knowing the whole time that he would have his long term girlfriend to go back to when he was done. 

Maybe it had all been an elaborate prank. A way to fuck over the gay kid who was clearly pining after him.

But if that was the case, why had TJ tried to talk to him on Tuesday? And why had he seemed so casual, so happy to be there? Was that part of the game too? Was he trying to see if Cyrus was stupid enough to be dragged back in? 

Because it didn't feel like that was it.

And that was the worst, most confusing part of all this... crap. Because, as much as Cyrus just wanted to convince himself that TJ was horrible, that he was a fuckboy, that he was only going to be the cause of more and more pain... he didn't actually believe it. It felt wrong. He could feel his body, his heart rejecting the idea. It would make everything so simple, but it just didn't match up.

As much as he wanted to crush that light, floating, desperate part of himself—the one that was holding out hope, begging for this all to be a huge misunderstanding—he couldn't do it. He couldn't convince himself that what he'd felt with TJ wasn't real. The connection had felt too strong. The kisses had been too powerful, too raw for anyone to convincingly fake. The things they'd shared with each other, the way TJ responded when he explained how he viewed the world—that didn't feel like a lie.

He couldn't convince himself it wasn't real, no matter how hard he tried.

So he was stuck. He was stuck, and in pain, and unable to sleep, or laugh, or focus. All because of a stupid boy.

It was so fucking difficult. When he was stupid enough to try to convince himself that things would end happily, all Cyrus's brain had to do was pull up the image of TJ pressing Kira against the wall and he could literally feel his heart crumbling in his chest. If he tried to harden his heart, tell himself that it was all a delusion and that he needed to move on, the unconscious recall of the TJ's lips against his, of being guided to TJ's secret spot, of the night they shared together was all it took to get his heart fluttering again.

It was endless. And horrible. And unwinnable. So, all he could do was put on a new _Murder Mystery Files_ and hope its low-volume explanation of blood spatters could win out over the war happening between his brain and his heart.

Maybe one day he'd be exhausted enough to actually sleep.

The sound of a door closing somewhere in the apartment was like a gunshot ringing out through the otherwise quiet room.

"Shit," Cyrus whispered, pushing himself up on his elbows just as Amber appeared at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over her chest and shoulders slightly hunched. "Did I wake you up?"

Even as Amber shook her head 'No,' Cyrus lowered the volume down another notch.

"Can't sleep?" Cyrus asked, getting only a head-shake as Amber hovered at the edge of the room. She looked tired, her normally proud stature hunched and shrunken as she leaned against the wall. There were bags under her eyes, too—not quite as bad as his own, but still visible in the dim back glow of the TV.

Staring at Amber, the person who had quite literally saved his life—forcing him to get tested when she noticed weirdness in his behavior, finding him a place to live and helping him get out of his mom's house, even coaching him through how to talk his dad into paying him an allowance—Cyrus was surprised to find himself feeling protective. She looked so small, all of a sudden. 

"Come on," Cyrus shifted his legs from the couch, sitting up and holding his comforter out beside him for Amber to join him. Without saying a word—for a person like Amber, silence spoke volumes—the blonde shuffled forward, curling into the couch and leaning into his side as he wrapped the two of them in warmth.

They sat like that for a while, staring silently at the TV screen as actors over-dramatically played out a murder scene from the late nineties. They were close enough that Cyrus could hear every one of Amber’s shaky inhales, could feel the tension as she held her breaths for a moment longer than felt natural, and feel it as she shakily let it all out again. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, how wet and shiny her stare was. Even as they sat there, silent, he could feel how stiff she was beside him.

It tugged at something inside his chest.

As the screen transitioned to some poorly rendered CGI depicting the path of the killer bullet, Cyrus saw Amber's mouth open. Just a little, just enough to look like she was about to say something. But she didn't. She stayed quiet. Cyrus could feel her shaking against him, could hear her breathing becoming less steady as the scene played out on the screen in front of them. They stayed like that for a minute, on the edge of something unknown, until it finally became too much to ignore. Without breaking the silence, Cyrus turned away from the TV, watching as Amber shifted weakly to look at him. She still looked so small, even as she met his eyes and straightened her shoulders. Cyrus could see how close she was to the edge. He could recognize that worn, desperate, empty look in her eyes.

He saw it in the mirror every time he looked at his reflection.

"Cy..."

It almost sounded like begging—like Amber was asking for answers, or help, or something that she knew Cyrus didn't have. She looked lost, and scared, and so very, very sad.

It was heartbreaking.

For the first time in weeks, he saw himself in someone else. It was uncomfortable, and Cyrus felt unsure, but he could understand her. He could understand her pain, and he knew that it was a lot. It was almost too much for him just to look at her, just to be so close. And as Amber looked back at him, eyes searching for something—for any possible answer—Cyrus knew it was too much for her too.

He wasn't ready, and neither was she.

"Let's not talk about it," the words came out as a whisper, but that didn't cheapen their support. He loved Amber, and he would be there when she needed him. He didn't know what that might mean, or what she would require, but he knew he could at least offer the one thing he always had—himself.

Not breaking eye contact, Cyrus lifted his arm, letting Amber shuffle closer to his side and rest her head on his shoulder. Her silent nod as the tears started falling was the only confirmation he needed to know that he'd done the right thing. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder and holding her tight was what she needed—what he needed, too. The feeling of her shaking against him, her quiet tears and loud sniffling as he squeezed her shoulder, it pulled at him. He could feel it in his chest, in the back of his throat, building up pressure behind his eyes. As he felt Amber let out a silent sob, it became too much for him to hold back.

The tears were trailing down to his chin before he ever realized what was happening.

They didn't need to talk about it. Not right that moment, at least. They would do it when they had the right words; when the time was right, or their problems were solved, or when things were so bad that they couldn't handle it on their own anymore.

And when that happened, they would be there for each other.

Until then, as the night got closer and closer to morning, their tears, and their warmth, and their silent support would have to be enough.

**_Friday, 7:52 AM_ **

"So! Let's see... Charlie?"

"Um... no." Cyrus lowered himself into the chair at the school nurse's office, glancing up at Mrs. Lee with a reluctant smile. The older woman, dressed in a white lab coat with her gray hair pulled back into a ponytail, looked back down at the file on her desk and sighed.

"Joey? No, Arthur. Basil? Isak? No, wait, don't tell me... Lucas?"

"Cyrus," the teen leaned forward, trying to glance at the combination counselor-and-nurse's desk—Jefferson was too cheap to pay for both, so they found themselves a two-for-one deal in Mrs. Lee—to see if she had a list of student names that she was reading off of.

She did not.

"Ah, right, of course you are. Cyrus. Well, Cyrus, please. What can I do for you."

"Um... Well, I'm having trouble sleeping." It seemed like a simple enough problem. Ostensibly, he knew it was only a symptom, but it was a symptom he wasn't sure he could put up with for much longer.

He wasn't expecting the awkward pause as Mrs. Lee continued to stare at him like she expected more.

"Is that all?" she asked suddenly, leaning forward onto her desk as she took a closer look at Cyrus's face. He was sure she could see the bags under her eyes. The pounding headache he'd been dealing with for more-or-less constantly was a bit less obvious.

"Uh, yes?"

"Okay, well let's see. Have you been tired? Or is it that you don't feel sleepy?" The nurse pantomimed resting her head on a pillow, a lazy smile on her lips as she pretended to snooze.

"No, I'm definitely tired," Cyrus answered. "Though probably not as tired as I should be. Like, last night I slept for two hours, woke up at 4 AM and then couldn't fall back asleep. The night before, I didn't fall asleep 'til five."

"Right," Mrs. Lee noted something down on a piece of paper, nodded slightly before looking back up. "And?"

"What do you mean, 'and?'" Maybe his brain just wasn't able to keep up, what with the lack of sleep, but he was feeling remarkably confused by the conversation.

"Anything else?"

"Um. No? Just the sleep problems." Cyrus shrugged, looking down as he pulled his hoodie tighter around him—why did it have to be so cold in her office?

"Right. Well then, sounds like you need to get rid of blue light."

With a smug smile, Mrs. Lee pounded on the table with an open palm, looking incredibly proud of herself. 

"I'm sorry?"

"No blue light," she repeated, scratching energetically at the back of her head before suddenly lunging for a stack of brochures to her left. "I swear I have... ha! Here. It's a huge thing with teenagers these days. All your devices—phones, tv's, laptops—they all emit blue light, and it messes with your ability to go to sleep. So, turn everything off a few hours before bed, no blue light, no problem."

Cyrus took a moment to stare at the brochure the woman had shoved into his hands, taking in the poorly edited stock image of a teenager staring at his phone under the words 'IS THE INTERNET KEEPING YOU AWAKE?' It didn't look like it would be very informative. Or well-written.

"I, um... I'm not sure if that's it," Cyrus was hesitant, glancing up at Mrs. Lee and her wide, slightly-crooked smile. "Sorry. At least, uh, not all of it."

"Oh?" Mrs. Lee leaned back in her chair, looking at Cyrus like she was appraising a sculpture. "What is it then?"

"I... don't know?" Cyrus cleared his throat, trying to keep himself from shrinking under her stare. "That's... that's why I'm here."

"Well, tell me, Cyrus," the nurse picked up the pen again, tapping it to her chin as she flipped through a few pages in her notepad. "What... hmm. What do you think about, when you're struggling to sleep? What do you focus on?'

Well, that was an easy answer.

TJ.

"Nothing," Cyrus shrugged, looking down at the nameplate on her desk rather than meeting Mrs. Lee's eyes. "Or everything. Sometimes."

"Nothing or everything? I'm sure you're aware, those are very... different. Yes?"

"Yeah, I just—"

"Nothing, everything, something. If you think about back, surely you have some idea of what was on your mind. Of what's causing this—at least a little. Right?"

He did. He knew he did. But he desperately wanted a different answer. Because there was nothing he could do about that problem—those problems, really. There was nothing he could do about TJ. He'd been rejected. The blond bastard went back to his girlfriend. That was that. There was nothing he could do about his mom. She was crazy, unhealthy for him, and terrifying. There was nothing he could do about his dad. Then man just didn’t care.

He stared at the nurse's desk, trying to come up with a way to respond.

"You don't want to tell me, do you?"

Cyrus glanced up, surprised to see another satisfied smile on the nurse's face as she chewed on the end of her pen.

"That's fine—"

"No, I just... it really is nothing in particular," Cyrus insisted, even as Mrs. Lee leaned forward placing her notepad down with a loud smack.

"I'm going to tell you something, Cyrus." Mrs. Lee looked down at her desk for a second before glancing back up at the teen in front of her. She waited until he nodded before she continued. "You know, I also struggle with talking about myself. Call it... modesty, or being too shy. My father always called it stubbornness, I don't know. I struggled with it for a long time. But there's one person that I found that I can talk to. About myself, about anything. It’s my husband, Jeremy."

Mrs. Lee, shifted in her chair again, a far-off look settling on her face as she leaned away from the desk. A silence fell over the room, and this time, Cyrus wasn't sure how he was supposed to break it. It stretched on, uncomfortable and awkward until Mrs. Lee yawned, and suddenly she back to focusing on Cyrus. 

"Well, he’s not really my husband. We're not married—well, he's not married. I mean, I'm married, but he's not. Anyway, that's beside the point—my point is that with Jeremy, I can tell him anything. I can tell him about my struggles. My stress at work, between kids who think they're pregnant and teachers who complain about gaining weight. My fantasies—and I do have fantasies, Cyrus." Mrs. Lee paused, holding Cyrus's stare for much longer than was necessary or comfortable. "I can tell him about how much I want to kill my brother when he comes to visit with his stupid family. Anything. I don't feel comfortable telling anyone else, but with Jeremy, it comes spilling out. Do you know why that is?"

Cyrus tried to get his bearings, still confused and a bit disturbed by Mrs. Lee's little speech. He had no idea how to answer her question, so he just shook his head.

"It's because I trust him, Cyrus. Trust. I know I can tell him anything because I trust him to not judge, and not get upset, or tell other people. I'm serious, young man. If only you knew how relieving it can be to talk to someone—someone who knows you well, and who accepts who you are. Even the weird parts."

The way Mrs. Lee described it—even if her word choice was slightly disconcerting—certainly sounded nice. Cyrus knew there was a lot that he had been keeping locked up inside himself. TJ, money problems, his dad, his mom, his roommates, Iris. It was a lot. It was obviously more than he knew how to handle. But he knew better than to think that just talking about it would be enough to solve things. He was raised by people who tried to talk everything into a solution.

He was proof that it didn't always work.

"You have to find your Jeremy, Cyrus. Go out and find him."

"I..." Cyrus paused, looking down at his hands as he swallowed around the twisting in his chest. "I'll try?"

"Good! And if that doesn't work, try taking some melatonin. That stuff knocks me right out."

Cyrus nodded, not sure if they were really done, but feeling like he had suffered through as much as he could handle. With a nod and muted good-bye, the exhausted teen stood, grabbed his bag, and made his way back to the lobby. 

_'Find your Jeremy'_

Someone Cyrus knew. Someone he trusted. Someone he had known for a long time, who knew him, knew the weird things about him, and didn't judge, or get upset, or tell other people. Someone that he didn't feel like a burden to. For someone with as many secrets as Cyrus, that list was small.

Really small.

One person small.

But he wasn't sure if that was really what he wanted to do.

As he walked down the hallway toward the central staircase, confused and tired and completely unsure of himself, Cyrus went to go reach for his phone. Without thinking, he slipped his hand into his hoodie pocket, not realizing until he pulled out what he found there that it was definitely not his phone. Phones generally weren't white, square, and made of paper. Even if that paper surprisingly thick, folded in half a few times.

Still confused and unable to look away, Cyrus unfolded the page. He couldn't tell if it was his exhaustion or his nerves that made his fingers tremble, but the way his stomach twisted when he revealed the drawing gave him a pretty good idea.

_TJ #25473 loses his chance_

It was two pictures once again, two boxes filled with similar but different scenes. In the first one, a raccoon was looking around a corner, hands held at his chest, disappointment in his eyes as he watched a dog walking away from him. In the box next to it, the raccoon was approaching the dog, a happy smile and excitement in his eyes. The dog looked surprised and pleased and...

_TJ #36542 rushes forward to choose his destiny_

When had TJ put that in his jacket? 

Is this what TJ thought he was doing at the lunch line? Choosing his destiny?

_'If I were you, I'd take both.'_

The lobby was almost empty by the time he made his way out of the nurse's office—it was almost first period, and even the stragglers weren't so bold as to hang out by the front desk as they earned their tardies. But there were still a few kids walking through to make their way to the center stairwell. A freshman who looked to be in quite a hurry, carrying a large posterboard in one hand and a thick folder in the other. A senior waltzing in with a half-empty cup of Starbucks.

And TJ. Walking with his bag slung over one shoulder, disappearing down the east wing toward the Art rooms. 

It was upsetting, how just seeing the other boy was enough to make his heart hurt, enough to send his stomach reeling once again. It made him want to crumple the drawing he still grasped in his hand. It made him want to chase after the other teen and kiss him against a wall. He wasn't sure how he was supposed survive if this kept up—how he could share the same school as the person causing him so much pain. So much confusion.

He needed to find a way to fix this or get over this, or... something.

It turned out Cyrus's Jeremy wasn't all that difficult to find. His locker was just down the hall and around the corner from his own, and he was standing there, grabbing a history book from the back when Cyrus approached.

"Hey."

Jonah didn't look too surprised when he looked up to see Cyrus standing in front of him, even as the younger teen struggled to meet his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders slouched.

"Hey."

"Do you have time to talk later? After school?" Cyrus's voice was quiet. Not unsure, but days of no sleep and psychological self-torture left him unable to put forward any kind of convicing facade. It didn't help that his brain kept asking what would happen if Jonah refused. What would he do?

What could he do?

"Of course," the answer was quick, but a little shakey. Like even Jonah was unsure—which, that was probably fair. Cyrus had never done something quite like this before.

But he still said yes.

"Whenever you want."

**_Friday, 4:17 PM_ **

Except for the athletes just starting their practices, and the occasional delinquent in Friday afternoon detention, Jefferson emptied out quickly on the last day of the week. The courtyard was like a ghost town, a surprisingly chill wind blowing through the gates of the school as Cyrus looked over the empty space. He watched passively as a few dead leaves began to dance around the pavers, swirling in invisible circles as the air pushed them around. It was finally starting to feel like fall, now that they'd finished out the first week of October, and his jacket—still with TJ's note folded into the pocket—was a welcome barrier against the cooling weather.

It helped that, even though the note had been fucking with his head all day, grasping it with his hand shoved in his pocket did a little word toward steadying Cyrus's breathing while he waited.

Jonah was late, but Jonah was always late. At least this time it gave Cyrus more time. Time to figure out what he was going to say. Time to figure out what he as going to hold back.

The truth was probably a good place to start. The full and honest truth.

While he waited, Cyrus tried to hold the image of his friend in his mind. Jonah Beck was a good guy—pretty much anyone would tell you that. He was friendly to just about everyone, though he could get overly-snarky with his exes; he was always happy to help out a friend; he almost never judged, except when someone deserved it. It was a bit weird when Cyrus thought about it. Jonah could have gotten away with so much worse. He was attractive, white, athletic, and fairly well off. He came from a family of 'important' people, and could generally have whatever he wanted. He could have been an asshole. No one would have been surprised.

But he wasn't.

When they were eleven, and twelve, and for a bit when they were thirteen, Jonah would make gay jokes. Never, as far as Cyrus could remember, with anyone in particular as the butt of the joke—more like just a running commentary. That's gay, no homo, just things like that. And then he stopped, right after the first kid in their fairly small middle school came out.

Jonah wasn't homophobic. He wasn’t. At least, that's what Cyrus was trying to convince himself of. He'd dated Libby—though, to be fair, Libby hadn't come out as bi at that point. He was friendly to Reed. Cyrus could almost recall Jonah talking about having a lesbian aunt. There was no reason to think that Jonah would freak out when Cyrus told him the truth.

And yet, his rushing heart rate and sweating palms seemed to disagree.

Cyrus almost didn't realize that he was no longer alone until Jonah was settling onto the bench next to him. There was no greeting, no 'how was your day.' There wasn't even an opening for him to make a casual transition. As soon as Cyrus looked over and saw Jonah's eyes staring at him, there was no time to change his mind or chicken out. There was just enough time for his best friend to nod in his direction, and then he started.

"You were right." It seemed like the best possible opening—who didn't like hearing that they were right? "I have been weird lately. Weirder than normal, at least."

Jonah nodded again, his face remaining solemn. It was such a serious look—not angry, not disappointed, but so completely serious. It left Cyrus with no idea what was going through his best friend's mind as he stared at him.

Eventually, he had to drop his gaze, focus on his hands picking at each other in his lap. It was too much to take in.

"You already know how complicated things are with my parents, you know how stressed I am about that all the time. But... that's not why I've been acting like this." Cyrus sighed, squeezing his fist before dropping his hands to grip the edge of the bench beneath him. "School is tough—tougher than I thought it would be without having someone standing over my shoulder every night. And then there's the rent that I can barely pay. The... freedom, that I don't know what to do with. And..."

Cyrus shook his head. Staring at a bunch of dancing leaves didn't feel right as he spilled his heart out to his best friend. It was hard, and it made something painful well up in his chest, but he forced himself to meet Jonah's eyes once again.

Jonah, who was patiently waiting next to him, face neutral except for the occasional nod. Jonah, the person he trusted most.

"I think I fell for someone."

Jonah looked down for just a second, blinking a few times before meeting Cyrus's stare again. "With Iris?"

"No," the younger teen shook his head. Part of him wanted to laugh, to express just how ridiculous of an idea that was, but it didn't seem like the right time. "Not with Iris."

"Then..." Jonah's eyebrows furrowed, confusion obvious behind those obnoxiously blue eyes.

"It's not a girl, Jo. I'm..." Cyrus took in a deep breath, knuckles turning white with the force of his fingers squeezing the metal slats of the bench. "I'm gay."

The silence that hung over them felt heavy and cold. Jonah dropped his gaze to the ground, eyes dancing from one paver to another as Cyrus stared at him. It was like he was looking for something before he could respond. But Cyrus couldn't wait. He'd just admitted his biggest, most stressful secret to someone for the first time, and he needed to hear a response. He needed Jonah to say something.

Anything.

"Are you surprised?" Maybe if things weren't so fucked, Cyrus could have made something fun out of this. Something to break the awkwardness, the silence, the tension. Something to laugh at.

_You said I suck at lying, but I sure fooled you!_

Instead, he had to sit there and watch as Jonah stared off into space. He remained silent as the other teen jumped from thought to thought, he forced himself to wait as his best friend sifted through his memories. Maybe there was a key one, something Cyrus himself couldn't remember, that would get rid of the questioning look on Jonah's face. A time he said something without realizing it—called a guy cute, or something like that—and then promptly forgot. He doubted Jonah would be able to find something like that. Especially considering the only two people who had ever triggered those feelings were TJ and...

"It's not me, is it?" The older teen blinked a few times, shaking his head lightly before meeting Cyrus's eyes again.

"No. It's not you," Cyrus nodded, but he could still see the traces of concern in his friend's eye. His throat began to grow tighter as Jonah stared at him, still questioning. In that moment of silence, he began to realize exactly what full honesty was going to mean. "In truth, when I was younger... yeah. I think I was..."

Jonah did not appear to be expecting that, given how wide his eyes went, given how he leaned just a little bit farther away.

"No. But seriously, man," Cyrus shook his head, struggling to keep his voice steady as his heart rate spiked once again. "It's not you. It hasn't been for a while."

"Okay," Jonah's nod was slow, and a little shaky, but he also shifted to lean back in, putting his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin on his hand. He didn't look like he was about to flee anymore. It was pretty much the only thing keeping Cyrus from having a panic attack. "But then... who is it?"

Cyrus gave himself a moment to take in a deep breath.

"TJ."

It was strange—Cyrus was of two minds as Jonah looked at him with surprise. On the one hand, he felt a weight lift off his shoulder—he'd finally told someone, with full disclosure, the real truth. It wasn't a secret anymore, not really—not with Iris potentially following through on her threat—but he'd been the first one to tell Jonah the truth. That felt good.

But another part of him felt nothing but shame. Not because he'd been lying, not because it was a guy, but because it was TJ. It was someone he'd made sure his friends didn't even know—he wasn't even sure if Jonah would be able to put a face to the name. It was someone who had caused him so much pain. It was someone who made him so confused. It was so difficult to feel any pride or happiness in saying his name. But that was why he was admitting it, right? Because he wanted to fix that.

"The guy who I'm supposed to be repainting the mural with—you met him once. On the bleachers. He... nevermind." Cyrus shook his head.

"Yeah, no, I... but wait, I thought he had a girlfriend. I... I heard Andi talking about him after the party."

"Yeah," Cyrus sighed, finally releasing his grip from the bench and resting his hands in his lap. "Kira. That's why it's so... complicated. That's why I'm so... fucking confused, Jo. Cause one day, he drops Kira, and he says he wants to be with me. And then the next, he's back with her, kissing her, telling me I need to give him space. It makes me feel so... fucking stupid. All he has to do is smile at me, or crack a joke, and I swear it's like every part of me wants to run back to him. But who knows? And I just... I don't know what to do."

Beside him, Jonah nodded, chewing on his lip as he regarded his younger friend. Cyrus wanted to wait, to give Jonah a chance to talk, maybe even give him some advice, but it was a dam had broken. The words just kept spilling out.

"And I promise—I wanted to tell you. I wanted to explain why I've been so weird, and I've needed your help so many fucking times, but... I couldn't." All Cyrus could really muster was a weak shrug as he stared at his hands. "I couldn't do it, couldn't even force myself to think about it. But then, this morning... I don't know. I went to the nurse—because I haven't slept in a week—and she was useless but she told me to find someone to talk to. Someone I could trust."

Next to him, Jonah was shaking his head with a rueful smile—and Cyrus wasn't sure how to respond to that. So he just kept talking.

"When I told Reed, I just... screwed everything up royally. When Iris found out she just started making everything worse. I just..."

Jonah nodded, scratching at the back of his head as he stared at a cluster of dancing leaves a few feet in front of them.

"Are there any other people who know?" His voice was quiet, a little distant as he asked the question, and Cyrus could feel the relief starting to ebb away.

"I, uh... I'm not entirely sure," Cyrus answered, truthfully. He had no idea how many people Iris had told. How far the gossip had spread. "Amber suspects something, she probably has a pretty good idea of what's going on at this point. Libby and Buffy, I swear I see them giving me this weird look anytime someone brings up TJ. And Andi... seems like we either argue about it every time the subject comes up, or she's completely oblivious. But I don't know. I don't feel like any of them can really help me with... everything. And I feel like things are out of control. I just—that's why I'm telling you, Jonah. I... what do you think?"

Jonah sighed, shifting in his seat to run his hands over the top of his jeans. Even as the seconds ticked by, he didn't say anything. And he didn't turn to look Cyrus in the eye. He didn't do anything.

"Jonah, I..." Cyrus paused, feeling his heart drop as his friend continued to stare at the ground. "Please say something, man. You're my best friend—I really, really want to hear what you have to say. Anything."

Jonah sighed again, slipping his hands into his jacket. Even as his eyes continued to bore holes into the ground, Cyrus could see the older teen's jaw stiffen. 

"Please."

"You know what?" At first, hearing his best friend's words felt like a relief. A cooling breeze against his overheating, overanxious skin. But then Jonah leaned forward and reached under the bench for his bag. 

"Jo?"

"I can't right now." Still without turning to look Cyrus in the eye, Jonah pushed himself up off the bench, shouldering his pack as he stood. "I need some time."

Without another word, without giving Cyrus a chance to reply, Jonah walked away. He walked straight from the bench to the gate, and then disappeared into the parking lot. He didn't stop, he didn't hesitate, and he didn't look back. 

If he had, he would have seen Cyrus still sitting on that bench, frozen in place as he stared at the ground.

He would have seen a boy who felt like he'd just lost everything.

He would have seen a teenager who was just about to break.

But he didn't turn around, he didn't glance over his shoulder or spin on his heel, so Cyrus suffered through the shattering of his heart completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter came out fast! Can someone please tell me if that's a good thing? How did this chapter compare to some of the previous ones


	7. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For weeks—years, really—Cyrus has survived by keeping to himself. But sometimes that stops being an option.

**_Saturday, 2:32 PM_ **

_TJ #36542 rushes forward to choose his destiny_

Choices. That’s what it all came down to, right? Making choices? Bad ones? Making the wrong fucking choices? 

Turning the half-folded sketch between his fingers, Cyrus couldn’t help but wonder if it worked out better for TJ—seizing his destiny. Because it sure as fuck didn't for him. No, the only thing that his risky choices had achieved was... yeah. Was a life with no friends, no family, and absolutely no way to deal with the fact that he was _fucking heartbroken._

Deciding to escape his mom? That just left him scared and struggling and sleeping on a couch with roommates who hated him.

Running away with TJ? Welcome to a brand new world of confusion, and pain, and living with a big red target on your back.

Coming out to Jonah...

He didn’t want to think about that.

He really... really didn't.

And yet, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jonah no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t stop picturing Jonah walking away from him without ever turning to look back. He couldn’t stop replaying those words—the last thing his best friend muttered before leaving him. Alone.

_“I need some time. I can’t right now.”_

It felt like his mind was waging a war against itself. He desperately wanted to forget—forget the shot of icy pain that those words drove into his chest—but it was the only thing his brain wanted to think about. Constantly. On repeat. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. Music didn't distract him. Homework felt like an impossibility. It was all he could do just to sit silently on the couch, the painful battle raging inside his head and chest, completely ignored by Lester as his roommate played yet another episode of Border Wars. It took everything he had just to make himself small, and quiet, and invisible.

So TJ #36542—and every other TJ out there—could go fuck himself.

The feeling of the thick paper crumpling into a ball under his fingers, the heavy thunk as it hit the wall on the other side of the room almost provided a moment of relief—a moment of vindication. 

But only a moment.

“Littering now, are we, little sparrow?”

Beside him, Cyrus noticed Amber's head snap up to stare at the other blond. From his ever-intensifying slouch, he couldn’t see her eyes, but he supposed they were probably surprised. Or confused. The first words Reed had spoken to him in a week, and it was about a piece of trash?

Then again, that was pretty on point for Reed.

"I'll get it later." Cyrus forced himself to use his voice for the first time all day, but it came out soft, weak from lack of use. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone, but especially not Reed—he’d felt so relieved when his three roommates had gone out the previous night and left him to stew on his own—but if Reed was done with his silent treatment, he knew better than to hope for another moment of quiet.

He was just so fucking... tired.

"Right." From his position on the couch, he could only hear Reed’s sigh, though he imagined there was probably an eye roll in there as well. He should have known that the subject wouldn’t be dropped that easily. Of course, it wouldn’t be as simple as getting up to grab his trash the next time he could summon the energy. Of course, Reed wouldn’t let him off that easy. But it wasn’t until he heard his roommate clearing his throat, followed by the telltale sound of thick paper being un-crumpled, that his exhausted brain began to connect the dots. It wasn't until Reed held the paper up in the air that he realized what was about to happen. "So what's this—did you draw this?"

"Did I—what?" It was frustrating to feel like his brain and body couldn’t react fast enough—his head snapped up and the neurons started firing but he was barely conscious of why, until—

"The... raccoon?" Even in his slouched position, Cyrus could see the slightly smudged black ink of the sketch. Could see the long finger pointing to the masked animal in the first box. And if Cyrus could see it from his slowly uncoiling ball of self-pity, that meant Amber and Lester probably could as well.

Finally, his brain and body started to communicate with each other. That emptiness he'd been feeling began to fill up with something... fiery.

Because... that was private. It was fucking private. That was the source of everything he didn’t want to think about—didn’t want anyone else to even know about. It was painful, and upsetting, and he never wanted to see it again.

But it was his.

"Give it back."

It was a croaky whisper, but the crack of anxiety that broke through the command gave away the urgency suddenly pounding away in his chest.

"Finders, keepers, sparrow. Why?" Reed casually flipped the note back around as Cyrus began to sit up, began to push himself into a taller posture. He could sense Amber glancing in his direction, and he could already feel his blood begin to boil—he was a few seconds from making a scene, but he didn’t care. His eyes were focused entirely on the piece of paper Reed was now examining with a confused smile. "Isn't it trash?"

"Reed," Amber’s voice sounded distracted as she flipped her magazine closed. "What did we tell you about taking what's not—"

"Give it back! I'm—what the fuck, Reed." In a burst of movement, Cyrus found he suddenly had plenty of energy—energy enough to stand up, to lunge for the note in the older blond's hands. It was his to keep or his to destroy, but it most certainly wasn't Reed's. He wanted it back—he wanted to tear it into a million pieces, to burn it, to scatter the ashes—he wanted it out of Reed’s hands. That was all he could focus on. He barely even felt the pain as his shins collided with the coffee table, too focused on the fact that Reed's quick reflexes had kept the paper just out of reach. He could feel another bout of swearing began to bubble away in his chest as his roommate glanced up at him with a confused smirk.

He couldn't tell what Reed was thinking—and, to be honest, he didn't really care. His life was already falling apart, the last thing he needed was to let Reed waltz in and screw things up even more.

"Oh, come on," Reed tutted, holding the paper behind his head as he glanced from Cyrus to Amber. "I'm gonna throw it out for ya. Just didn't know you could draw—I mean, look at this!"

There was nothing Cyrus could do but throw his arms out in frustration as Reed tossed the note to Amber, who startled as it landed face up in her lap.

"Our boy has skills, Amby," Reed continued with a grin, and it made Cyrus’s skin crawl. Every word was like a needle, pricking and poking at his ears. He wasn't sure if he'd ever felt more annoyed—was it so much to ask for some privacy? Some respect? Maybe some fucking peace and quiet? "Seriously, why'd you toss it? It's not bad, and you can't be that much of a—"

"Because it's TJ's!"

The whole room seemed to freeze, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the unexpected power that had made his voice echo in their ears. Out of the corner of his eye, Cyrus could see Amber slowly looking up from the note to fix her eyes on him—he could feel concern—no, it was fucking pity—rolling off her in waves and, as suddenly as it appeared, that energy was gone. He felt out of breath just standing there. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid. Pity, concern, ‘poor, unfortunate Cyrus.’ Maybe in another situation, he would have found some joy in seeing Reed's cocky smile falter, but as he felt the focus—the stares—of the room shift on to him, all he wanted to do was go back to curling up in a ball on the couch.

He just wanted to hate himself in peace.

"It's TJ's drawing, okay? Can we move on now?"

But the staring didn't stop, and the silence only grew thicker. Neither Reed nor Amber turned back to what they were supposed to be doing—the magazine, all but forgotten, fell from Amber's lap as she shifted in her chair. There was a weird look on Reed's face, one Cyrus hadn't seen before, one he didn't want to interpret. And as he stood there, as he tried to bear the weight of that focus with as much stoicism as possible, it all became too much. No one was saying a thing, no one was changing the subject—standing there at the center of it all became more than he could handle. Without a word, Cyrus fell onto the couch, burying himself into his jacket as he slunk down as far as the cushions would allow.

"Amber?" It was Reed who broke the silence, his voice sure and calm and surprisingly serious as he took a step around the coffee table.

"Yeah," the sigh came from the other side, from Amber, and then a moment later Cyrus was being squeezed between two bodies, his roommates shoving themselves into the small gaps on either side of him. "It's time for an intervention."

Even if he'd been able to find the energy, Reed and Amber were pressed so tightly against him that he doubted he’d be able to escape... whatever the fuck this was.

"So," Cyrus tried to adjust so that his legs weren't pressed against Reed's, but with four people crammed onto a couch made for two, there wasn't much he could do. "Sparrow. C'mon. Let's talk."

"I'd rather not." Even as he tried—and failed—to harden his stare, Cyrus could feel his throat growing tighter. Even his body didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be forced to relive... everything. His heart already ached from the thoughts he couldn't get his brain to shut up about. He couldn't bear to meet Reed's gaze, and he knew Amber was looking at him with just as much... something on the other side of him. They were so close—so focused on him—it was exactly what he didn't want.

He wanted to disappear. He wanted to be forgotten. Amber squeezing his shoulder as she hummed was... sort of the exact opposite of that.

"That's too bad," Reed sighed, shifting again to rest his arm on the back of the couch. "This isn't healthy. You look like shit, you can barely stand—you've barely moved from that couch all week."

With a soft smile, Reed tried to nudge Cyrus's shoulder, but the younger teen refused to engage.

"You're the one who forced me here," the words came out scratchier than he wanted—even as Cyrus tried to take a dig at his roommate, he could feel that something welling up in the back of his throat. He tried to keep his voice steady—for some reason needed to them to believe he was still strong, still unbothered—but he knew he wouldn't be able to hold out for long. "Technically... I'm on my bed."

For a glorious moment, there was silence. A small part of him held out hope for laughter—something to distract and give an excuse to change the subject. But there was only silence, and before long it shifted into something uncomfortable. He felt Reed shift to look at Amber as he slowly pulled his hood over his face. They were forming a battle plan, he could tell—stubborn and annoying was practically their motto. He was expecting Amber to take her turn when Reed suddenly broke through the quiet with an exaggerated sigh.

"Nope, c'mon," There was no patience in his voice as he dug a hand under the younger teen's arm, pulling him up to a more acceptable posture while Amber gently tugged the hood off his head. "We're talking about this. What's the problem."

"Nothing." It sounded lame, even to Cyrus's ears. But just because they weren't giving up didn't mean he had to make it easy for them. He focused on his hands, watching his fingers pick at each other in his lap while his two roommates leaned in even closer.

What else was he supposed to say? That his life was fucked up and it was all his fault? That he felt completely alone? This wasn't their problem, it wasn't their... job to help him. Why did they even care?

"Cyrus. What's going on?" Reed's voice came out gentler, softer, as Amber squeezed his shoulder once again. It wasn't a tone he was used to hearing from his roommate—especially directed toward him. He sounded... worried. Like, real, human worry, as he stared down at the young teen still playing with the hem of his jacket. And it was weird—because, since when did Reed worry? It was unexpected, but... fuck. Cyrus could feel something breaking down inside his chest. He could feel it crumbling as Reed and Amber shifted again, squeezing him even tighter between the two of them as they all crammed themselves onto a single cushion.

This was all so... absurd.

He wanted to laugh. If Reed was worried for him—actually, legitimately concerned for his wellbeing—then either the world was ending, or he was in even worse shape than he thought. Which would be impressive, because he was already pretty sure that he looked like death. It was just so foreign—so funny. Reed wasn't supposed to... care. Reed was supposed to tease him and make his life difficult. He was supposed to pretend to care only with an obvious level of sarcasm in his words. And yet... fuck. There he was. Staring at Cyrus with concern in his eyes and a stern grimace on his face, and it was so... fucking weird.

What was it he'd said? Before? Before Cyrus had decided to open his big mouth and piss him off?

_"This is me being a responsible role model. Just making sure you know that I'm here to talk."_

Cyrus wanted to laugh. But he couldn’t.

He couldn't laugh, because TJ. Because his parents. Because Jonah. Because the whole fucking world.

He couldn't laugh, but it was too much to hold inside. He needed some way to release the pressure building inside his head, or he was sure that he would explode.

"What's going on, is that my best friend fucking left me—" he didn’t know if it was the frustration or desperation welling up inside his chest that finally made the words spill out, "—as soon as I told him I was gay." He could hear it in the shaky, wet sadness of his voice—fuck—he knew the first tears weren't far behind. With every word, he could feel that thing inside himself crumble, could feel this all becoming... inevitable. And it was so fucking embarrassing, but he couldn’t fucking stop it. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. "What's going on is that... every time I walk through school, I feel like everyone is staring at me. What's going on is that soon everyone is going to know—everyone’s already talking about me and there's nothing I can do to stop them. What's going on is that... it's all because of a guy who made me believe that he fucking cared about me and then... fuck! Then he disappeared, and left me to deal with it all on my own!"

Neither Amber nor Reed interrupted as the first tears tumbled onto Cyrus's cheek. No one reached out to brush away the wetness, and he didn't care enough to do it himself. No one was going to deny him this. Not even himself. He saw the two of them exchange glances—blurry and silent on the edge of his vision—but the words weren't done spilling from his mouth.

"My friends hate me, and people won't stop whispering behind my back, but TJ's off making out with his girlfriend," the sound of crumbling paper was just audible over the wet thickness of his voice, "because I'm a fucking idiot and he doesn't give a shit about me. He doesn't!"

Cyrus hated the fact that he was, once again, crying over TJ. Letting himself sob over someone he never should have allowed to become so important. But he was. He was, and just acknowledging that fact made the tears begin to fall faster, thicker, louder.

"Okay," Reed's voice was still unusually soft, as if he was scared he might frighten Cyrus away. "Let's forget about TJ for now."

Even as more tears escaped onto his checks, Cyrus couldn't hold back the pitiful, painful scoff that escaped his throat. He'd been trying for days to forget about TJ with no success. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to.

"Jonah is not homophobic." The tone of Reed’s voice left no room for debate. He sounded like was stating a fact. It was exactly what Cyrus had tried to convince himself of—it was exactly what he was no longer sure about. He couldn't stop himself from tearfully shaking his head—just a small movement, but he was terrified that he was right.

"He's not," Amber echoed. "He knows better."

"I know that he's not. He's never had a problem with me. Not once. That's not what this is, Cy. There has to be something else."

Cyrus shook his head, harder now, the pain in his chest making him insistent. Reed had no idea what he was talking about. He could feel his heart drop as he unwillingly recalled the look in Jonah's eyes—so hard, so distant—as his friend stood up and walked away. God, he would love for Reed to be right, but how could he believe him when Jonah had reacted like that?

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the world. Tried and failed to stop the tears.

"Look." There was no mocking tone, no secret smile in Reed's voice as he glanced over at Amber for a moment, waiting for her to nod. "I know..." another sigh, another deep breath, "I know how hard it can be when someone doesn't react that way you expect them to. The way you want them to. I know how much it hurts. I'm sorry, Cyrus."

If that was supposed to make Cyrus feel better, it failed spectacularly. The young teen only felt his chest grow tighter, felt the lump in his throat grow heavier as another sob escaped his lips and more tears ran down to collect under his chin.

"I wish I could tell you that you'll never have to go through this again—I do. I really do. But that's not the way the world works, Cyrus. You're going to spend the rest of your life telling people that you're gay. Or deciding not to." Reed paused, taking a big breath and giving Cyrus just enough time for the gravity of his words to sink in. "Sometimes it'll be really big, something you prepare for and worry about for a long time before you do it. Sometimes it'll be a quick thing—just slipping the word 'boyfriend' in passing, or sending out a tweet just to get it over with. Sometimes, you'll decide someone isn't worth telling—let them figure it out on their own. But however you do it..."

He didn’t need to finish that thought.

There were billions of people in the world. There were hundreds—thousands—that would be in his life. That would be important in his life.

This—coming out of the closet—was not a job that would ever be finished.

The tears started falling faster as Cyrus’s breath got shakier. How many more times was he going to feel like this—exactly like this? How often would his life be turned upside down? He wanted to hide. To run and disappear into a dark corner so that he never had to look at the rest of the world again.

"Sometimes, it goes really well," Reed pressed on, even as Cyrus shook his head and tried to move away from that annoyingly calm, annoyingly caring voice. "That's the best. Sometimes, it takes a few days—or a few months—for people to come around." Another pause. Even with his eyes screwed shut, Cyrus could feel Reed staring at him, evaluating him. "Sometimes, they never do."

He heard Amber let out a shaky sigh beside him.

Right. Of course. Those were just the facts. He knew that—he did. But hearing it confirmed by someone else was too painful to bear silently.

"I wish that wasn't the case, Cyrus, I really do. But there's nothing you, or I, or anyone can do about it." He felt something on his knee, and through the haze of tears, Cyrus realized that Reed was squeezing it as he leaned in even closer. "I'm sorry. But what we can do is refuse to let that rule our lives. We can accept, and move on, so that regret and what if’s don’t get the chance to control how we see the world."

Cyrus’s hands squeezed the fabric of his pajamas so hard that he could feel his nails digging into the heel of his palm. Accept it? How was he supposed to accept something that had done nothing but bring him pain?

"Jonah's not going to abandon you," Amber's voice finally broke through the sound of his sniffling and shaky breaths. "He's not. It may take him a few days, he may just need some time—"

"No," Cyrus shook his head, distraught at how wet and pathetic and whiny his voice sounded. "No, I... You didn't see how he reacted! He just left—he left me like an idiot! I never should have told him. I never should have told anyone!"

"But you have to be honest with people," Reed insisted, an almost-smile on his lips as he wrapped his arm around Cyrus's shoulder—normally Cyrus would've hated so much closeness but at that moment all he wanted to do was to curl into Reed's chest. "What you did is so important, Cyrus. It's so important to open up to people."

"No!" His voice cracked as Cyrus shook his head. He wanted to refuse almost as much as he wanted Reed to be right.

"Yes! It is, I swear! If you keep everything locked up inside, people still see you suffering but they can't understand why." Reed's voice only grew more confident, more insistent as Cyrus continued to shake his head. "If you don't tell the truth, the people who care can't help you—Cyrus, there are always people who care about you. Always."

"TJ doesn't care." TJ. The person at the center of... everything. Just saying his name brought another pathetic crack to Cyrus's voice. Even as he felt his heart twist, Cyrus forced himself to meet Reed's stare. He wanted a response, he wanted to be challenged, he needed someone to tell him that he was wrong. He wanted—he needed—Reed to do something to lessen the pain piercing his chest. Something more than biting at his lip and sighing. "This is his fault and he doesn't give a fuck about me."

"Cyrus," Amber's hand trailed down to interlace her fingers in his as she took over from Reed. Her voice was a different type of assured, a different type of understanding, and it sent a warm shiver down Cyrus's spine. "You may have plenty of reasons to be mad at TJ, but... he’s not responsible for you being gay."

All Cyrus could do was shake his head as he tried to breathe. Wasn't he? Maybe Amber was right—of course she was—but it was TJ's fault that he hadn't been able to ignore it. And even if he wasn't to blame, so what? That didn't make the loneliness, the pain he felt whenever he thought of TJ's smile any easier to deal with.

"Do you remember when I borrowed your phone before I left for DC? Cy, I'd wondered for a while, but then I saw some of the sites you had open, and..."

"I wasn't..." he wanted to laugh, but it came out depressingly combined with yet another sob. Of course. Free from his mom, he had only just started to look at things like... that. Of course, someone had caught him almost immediately—it was just his luck. "I wasn't sure, back then."

"And that's okay," Reed jumped in, shaking Cyrus's shoulder gently.

"I'm not saying that TJ didn't speed things up, but... it had to happen someday, right? Maybe not with TJ, but someone."

It felt so weird, trying to separate TJ from the fact that he was gay. They were so linked in his mind—the pain of one mixing with the confusion of the other—that he still wanted to reject Amber's words. Even though he knew she was right. It felt safe to blame TJ. It felt safe to blame _someone_.

But she was right. TJ wasn’t the reason he was gay. TJ was at fault for his heartbreak, but the rest? The pain of coming out, and being gay, and defending himself? TJ wasn’t the reason. Jonah wasn't the reason. Reed, Amber, Libby—there was no one in the world who was 'the reason.'

"Cyrus," Reed's voice broke its way into his thoughts, supportive and happy and... fuck. There was so much caring—why did he still care so much? "I know, I know—but listen. It’s going to be okay. I promise you. You’re going to get through this and come out the other side stronger than ever. The closet is dark, and narrow, and it smells like shit, and you have absolutely no reason to go back in there. Okay? There is nothing for you back there. It's so much better to be who you are—I swear, with every ounce of sincerity that I have, that it's worth it."

Who Cyrus was? Cyrus was scared. And hurt. That’s who he was. But as Reed and Amber both pulled themselves even tighter, he could feel his mind starting to calm down. His breathing became more even, and even as tears continued to fall down his face, he could feel the twisting in his chest begin to slowly fade.

What would it be like to live like that? Would it be freeing? Terrifying? Wonderful?

"Be who you are, Cyrus. Live your life. And anyone who has a problem with that?" Reed paused, and Cyrus could see the first traces of a smile beginning to pull at the edges of his roommate's lips.

Cyrus was scared. And hurt. And gay. And also, a nerd, a dork, a geek—whatever. He was someone who loved science, and math, and sci-fi movies that treated science and math like they didn't exist. He loved classical music and playing the piano. He still hated dubstep. He maybe got flustered a bit too easily. He had an inconquerable sweet-tooth and probably needed to start exercising because of it.

He was someone who was still trying to figure out exactly who they were.

And he didn’t have TJ, or Jonah, or parents, but that didn’t mean he was alone.

"Fuck those guys," Reed flipped the TV his middle finger as Amber chuckled next to Cyrus's ear. "Fuck 'em all. Right?"

And Cyrus wanted to laugh. So he did. Especially as both Reed and Amber shifted to rest their blonde heads on his shoulders, cuddling up against Cyrus's side as they repeatedly flipped off a series of invisible people on the other side of the room. It was shaky, and wet, and barely made it past his lips before he had to take another deep breath, but it was laughter.

"Thank you," he couldn't fit all the gratitude and encouragement and warmth into his voice that he wanted to—he wasn't there yet. But Reed chuckled against his hoodie anyway, and he figured the message had been received.

He was still scared, and hurt, and increasingly exhausted. But the tears were starting to dry. And the desire to disappear into the couch was waning.

He wasn't all the way there yet, but for the first time in a very long time, he felt like he might get there eventually—wherever 'there' was.

"But... wait," Lester—Cyrus almost jumped, because honestly, he had forgotten that Lester was even there—suddenly leaned forward, looking around Reed from the other end of the couch. There was a question in his eyes, a serious look as if he was about to say something groundbreaking. 

Cyrus wasn't entirely sure if he was ready for anything more.

"You're gay?"

Too exhausted to respond, Cyrus collapsed into the couch. Reed, at least, found it hilarious—breaking into uncontrollable laughter as he hugged Cyrus tighter and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. On his other side, Amber let out a frustrated sigh and shifted to kick at Lester's shins. It was almost as if everything was back to normal—Amber was gearing up to rant at Lester, Reed let go of Cyrus, who sat back and watch the chaos ensue, and Lester was... confused.

It was weird, and it was loud, and it was still on the edge of being too much for Cyrus to handle, but for them... that was the way it was supposed to be.

**_Monday, 7:43 AM_ **

Amber had wanted to walk him into school again. It took Reed physically holding her back in the apartment while shouting about Cyrus being a 'big boy,' for the younger teen to be able to escape without a chaperone. But, as he stepped into the crowded courtyard on that Monday morning, there was a part of him that wished she’d tagged along after all. 

In the microcosm of the apartment, it had been almost easy to convince himself that things might turn out okay. With Reed's surprisingly sage words of support interspersed between his normal volume of insults and teasing, and Amber's unwavering vow to fuck up anyone who gave him any trouble, Cyrus had fallen asleep on Sunday night—an actual, normal, full night's rest—with some notable confidence that things would be okay.

It was just a lot harder to remember that confidence once he was actually... at school.

His original plan, the one he had come up with on the bus, was to keep his head down. Not out of fear—he kept trying to convince himself to believe Amber’s insistence that he had nothing to be scared of—but just to give himself more time. One more day without any extra drama. Just a little more time to get used to the very foreign idea of... not hiding. So he wasn't going to search for Jonah, or Iris, and especially not TJ. He was just going to go about his day, enjoy whatever privacy he could get, and try not to freak out.

It was a simple plan, really. And, like all of Cyrus’s simple plans, it fell apart at pretty much the first opportunity.

He was only about halfway through the courtyard when he felt his chest tighten, felt his feet stumble to a stop as he looked up to find himself just a few feet away from his friends. From Marty and Gus—no Jonah in sight. And he had no idea what to do.

Just looking at them made his throat tighten. They looked so... normal—except for the thick white tape wrapped around the bridge of Gus’s glasses—so unbothered. He was almost jealous.

They hadn't noticed him yet—they were staring at their phones and chatting amongst themselves—which meant he still had time to disappear and keep his head down if that's was his goal. But he continued to hesitate, frozen in place as he stared at his two friends laughing at something Marty had whispered. He could easily disappear into the crowd—those two weren't exactly the most observant—but his feet refused to move. Because it wasn't what he wanted. Because that tightening he was feeling in his chest wasn't from fear.

He missed them.

"Hey."

Whatever had been distracting Marty on his phone was quickly forgotten as the older teen looked up and almost immediately jumped to attention. If not for the pit of nerves in his gut, maybe Cyrus would have laughed as the jock's eyes went wide and he slapped Gus's shoulder to get the redhead’s attention.

"Cyrus! Dude! Look, Gus, it's Cyrus!" Marty almost tripped over himself as he tugged at Gus’s arm, pulling his smaller friend until they were both standing a bit closer than necessary with big—admittedly nervous-looking—smiles on both of their faces.

"Cyrus!" Gus echoed. "How are you doing, man? Are you good? You look good!”

"I'm, uh..." Cyrus nodded, forcing the most confident, chill smile he could muster in response to his friend's unnatural behavior—because, fuck, it was good to talk to them again even if they were already acting exceedingly weird. And he didn’t want them to sense his nerves. "I'm good."

"Great, that's... that's great," Gus nodded, not letting his smile or his stare drop for a second.

Cyrus glanced between to two of them, taking a moment to acknowledge the nerves behind their way-too-wide smiles. And trying to decide if it was something he needed to be worried about. Clearly, they waiting for something—either that or they were exceptionally happy to see him—but the big question still sat heavy in his mind.

Was this about to end badly?

"How about you?" Cyrus asked, forcing his voice to stay steady. They were being weird, but he really didn't want to let himself consider the worst of the possibilities. Weird didn’t necessarily mean bad, right? "How was your weekend?"

"Cool." Marty nodded, glancing quickly to Gus who nodded as well. "Really cool."

"Yup, totally cool."

"Right..." Cyrus tugged at the strap of his bag, examining the faces of his two friends. Obviously, something was going on—those two were absolutely horrible at playing nonchalant. Of course, his brain was happy to jump in with a couple dozen disaster scenarios, but there was something about the way the two boys were smiling, and glancing at each other, and... he needed answers before his brain devoured itself with anxiety. "Pretty chipper for a Monday morning, are we?"

"No!" Gus almost shouted, smile faltering for a second before plastering itself back into place as he continued in a much calmer voice. "We're just really happy to see you, man."

"Very glad," Marty added.

That made him feel... a little bit better.

"Mhmm. But nothing special, or—I mean, how was your weekend? Right? Was it cool?"

"Uh... yeah? Sure."

There was no way he was going to recount his actual weekend of tears and homework—no one wanted to hear that. Even if they really were happy to see him. But if that was the case... maybe Amber and Reed were right. Maybe things didn't have to be a disaster.

"Awesome. Right—oh! I almost forgot," Gus turned to Marty, and Cyrus felt himself wince in preparation, "speaking of this weekend, I forgot to tell you! Oh man! I went to this event—it was a youth group—with my cousin on Saturday. And it was so cool. I'd never been, but, y'know, turns out it was a gay youth group! And yeah—did I mention it was so cool. Really. We should definitely all go sometime."

Right. So that's what was about to happen. Cyrus felt his jaw tighten and his chest fill with butterflies as he tried to decide how to feel about... this.

"Oh, wow, yeah," Marty jumped in, looking from Cyrus to Gus excitedly, "What a coincidence! I was just thinking—you know what else we should do? All of us, next summer? We should go to Gay Pride!"

"Dude, hell yes! But, did you know—I was watching this video," Gus reached over to shake Marty's shoulder before turning to face Cyrus with that persistent smile plastered on his face. They were being so incredibly obvious. Or—a horrifying thought flashed across Cyrus's mind—there was a chance that this was his friends’ attempt at subtlety, and he couldn't decide which was worse. "You know, just doing some, uh, research. And apparently now the proper term is the 'Pride March,' and I am all for it."

"Oh yeah, me too, bro."

"Sounds like a blast, right Cyrus?"

And then they were both looking at him, Gus smiling and Marty searching Cyrus's face for a sign. They were both searching, Cyrus could see it in their eyes. They were trying to figure out if they were saying the right thing—if they were assuming the right thing.

It would be funny—and maybe even heartwarming—if it didn’t make his stomach twist. Maybe one day to get used to things was too much to ask for. Apparently, one hour was too much to ask for. Cyrus needed to decide what he was going to.

"Mmm, how'd you find that?" Marty asked, back to smiling widely at Cyrus.

"The March? Oh, so I was talking to Catherine—my mom's friend? You remember. Short, long hair, lesbian? Totally adorable. Cool. Very sweet."

Fuck, they were so bad at this. He needed to tell them before they did something extraordinarily stupid.

Holy shit... he was going to tell them.

"Right, and lesbians are awesome, as we all know," Marty held his hands up, inviting Cyrus to agree with them.

He had to do it.

"Oh absolutely—"

"Anyway, you were saying?"

He just needed to say it out loud.

"Right, so I was talking to Catherine, so nice, really we should all hang out with her sometime, and—"

"Yo, Goodman!" With the grace of a bulldozer, Buffy shoved her way between his friends like they were a pair of poorly-latched french doors. She took half a moment to glance back as Marty and Gus tried to collect themselves, but clearly decided that she didn't care.

"Buffy," Cyrus nodded, forcing himself to speak around the lump in his throat. “What’s... up?”

"There's some gossip going around, and I think you know what it is, right?" She paused—and there it was. No more fucking around. Leave it to Buffy to break out the direct questions in times of stress and rumors. And to want a direct answer. Fuck.

He could do this. He could. He just had to... do it.

Without giving himself a chance to change his mind, Cyrus nodded, and Buffy took it as a sign to continue. "Look, I've been too busy with the lounge to follow this shit, and I'm not gonna believe anything unless I hear it from you. So."

Buffy paused again, taking a deep breath as she looked at Cyrus expectantly. He took the lull in conversation to return the favor, glancing from Buffy, to Marty, to Gus, recognizing the slightly anxious, slightly impatient look on all of their faces. There were rumors, they’d clearly all heard them—from whom was a question for later—and they were all looking for confirmation. Or denial. There was still a chance it wasn't too late for denial.

Was this really how he wanted to do this?

"Is it true?"

Maybe it was because of all the things Reed had said over the weekend, or maybe it was because he knew that he was sort of running out of time. Regardless, in that moment, as he stared at his friends, Cyrus decided that he honestly didn’t want to live with the pain of holding the truth in anymore. He wanted to exhale. It wasn't exactly how he envisioned coming out to his friends, but...

He made his choice.

"Yeah." Cyrus nodded, a flood of relief filling his chest as all three of them immediately broke out into even bigger smiles. "Yeah, it's true. I'm gay."

"Word." Buffy held out a fist, which Cyrus happily bumped.

"Okay! Okay, cool," Gus shook his head as he stepped to be next to Buffy. "Cool, man. Thanks for telling us, cause, well, we were sorta scared. Well, scared is a big word, we were—"

"We didn't want to seem like assholes," Marty jumped in, leaning onto Buffy's shoulder only to have her slap him away after half a second. 

"Oh, don't worry, man," Cyrus chuckled, reveling in the pleasant fluttering in his chest as he shook his head. "You guys absolutely sounded like assholes."

"Fuck, I told you, bro," Gus laughed, lightly punching Marty's shoulder. "Bringing up Catherine was too much."

"No, it was funny. Don't get me wrong," Cyrus grinned.

“Yeah?”

"Alright," Buffy sighed, taking a large step forward to escape Marty's reach. "Well, I accomplished my goal, so I'm gonna head to class. Cyrus." Cyrus returned Buffy's quick nod. "Cyrus's friends."

"You need help with anything?" Cyrus asked.

"Oh, no, I'm good," Buffy shook her head. "I mean, I'm sure some girl out there will be devastated to hear that one of Jefferson's few non-assholes plays for the other team, but that is not me. I'll be fine."

"Not what I meant, but okay..."

"Oh, uh, Buffy," in a flash, Marty jumped forward, hand held out like he was hoping Buffy might call on him. "Just throwing this out there, but, as I hope you know, I am still very heterosexual. If you do need, y'know, consoling."

"And still very much a pain in the ass as well," Buffy rolled her eyes as Cyrus and Gus let off a burst of laughter, quickly turning on her heel to disappear into the crowd. Marty's call died in his throat as she held up her middle finger over her shoulder.

"Wait, what did I say wrong?" The jock sounded crestfallen, big puppy-dog eyes turned towards Cyrus begging for an explanation.

"Subtlety really isn't your strong suit, is it?" Cyrus shook his head, laughing as Marty turned to Gus, looking even more lost.

"If you want my opinion? She likes you, dude." Gus poked Marty in the chest—and just like that, it was as if Cyrus's admission had been forgotten. Or, not forgotten, but just... not a big deal. An unimportant fact. They'd moved on. Honestly, it was the most relieving response he'd gotten to this whole 'gay' thing so far.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, totally," Cyrus nodded, jumping into the flow of the conversation as he tried to hold off the overpowering urge to smile like an idiot. "Wanna know how we know?"

"No—seriously? How?" Marty's wide eyes jumped between his two friends, an almost pathetically desperate look on his face. "Seriously, dude, tell me."

"Because she didn't knock you the fuck out right then," Gus answered, laughing at Marty's obvious confusion.

"Also, that fist bump? I could tell she was thinking of you when she did it." Cyrus added, holding out his fist for Marty to tap it with awe.

"For real?"

"Oh, absolutely," Cyrus confirmed, looking to Gus for support as he tried not to break into laughter.

"Definitely, I read about that," Gus added, throwing his arm around Marty's shoulder. "You do something with someone you don't care about, but you're really thinking about the person in your heart. It's the height of romance in some cultures."

"Wait," Marty turned and gave Cyrus an appraising stare—it was almost too much for the younger teen to keep a straight face, but right before Cyrus was about to break, Marty smiled wide and pulled the two of them into a hug. "This is great!"

"Wonderful, really," Cyrus tried to muffle his giggles against Marty's shoulder.

"I mean, I knew she was into me, obviously," Marty released them, reaching out to adjust Gus's glasses with a sheepish smile, "but this just confirms it. Which is great."

"One-hundred percent," Cyrus nodded.

"Two-hundred!" Gus amended.

"Alright! Fuck yeah! We should celebrate!" Marty held up his hand for a high five. "The whole gang, my place, tonight?"

"It's Monday," Cyrus shook his head.

"Also, the whole gang's not here."

"Yeah, where is Jonah?"

And... fuck.

Cyrus shrugged, trying not to be obvious about the emotional punch in the gut that was Marty’s question. It was rare enough to see Marty and Gus without Jonah—if even they didn't know where his best friend was... then shit. He hoped Jonah wasn't avoiding them—and he really hoped it wasn't because of him.

"Eh, whatever, I'll ask him when he shows up." Marty shrugged, turning around as he and Gus started heading toward the school doors. "He's always down to hang out, even on a Monday, unlike you bitches."

"Yeah, because neither of you are taking any AP's!"

"I'm taking AP Gov next semester!"

"Only because you want a class with Bradshaw!"

Cyrus didn't want to think about it too much, didn’t want to focus too hard on the obvious hole where his best friend should have been—standing on the other side of Marty, mocking Gus’s difficult schedule—but it was tough. Despite Amber and Reed's near-constant insistence over the weekend, it was hard not to assume that Jonah's reaction on Friday meant... the worst possible outcome. That Jonah was now avoiding him, figuring out how to live a life with as little contact as possible. And that there was nothing he could do about it.

With Jonah nowhere to be seen, it was even harder not to assume that he'd been right all along.

He had Marty and Gus back, but that only made him miss his best friend even worse.

"Anyway—oh wait, hey, Cy?" Marty turned around, jogging back to the shorter teen who was lost in thought a few feet behind him.

"Hmm?" Cyrus looked up, snapping himself out of whatever unfortunately parallel universe he had been imagining—the one where Jonah never spoke to him again.

"Uh... you're it!" The jolt to his chest came as a surprise, almost knocking Cyrus backward as Marty retreated in a gleeful sprint towards the glass doors. "No tag-backs!"

Gus eyed him briefly before turning to run, and Cyrus couldn't help but laugh.

He could think about the tough shit later.

He had a friend to chase down.

**_Monday, 3:59 PM_ **

The foosball table had been a brilliant move.

Sure, the couches might have helped. The wifi and stack of lightly-used boardgames seemed popular as well. But the foosball table was clearly a big part of the reason why the common room was still relatively full so long after the final bell. It was definitely why Cyrus was there.

Even if he was in the process of getting his ass handed to him by Marty.

“Boom! Fuck you, Goodman! Marty Foss plays to win, motherfucker!”

It was no less embarrassing than his friend’s first few outbursts, but, at least by this point in the game most of the other students had stopped looking up from their books and phones every time Marty yelled obscenities at the top of his lungs.

“Alright, jeez, we get it...”

“Shit. C’mon, Cy, let’s take him on together.” Gus jumped up from the couch, grabbing two of the handles next to Cyrus as he glared at the still-energetic older teen across the table.

“I’ll take on both of you—I’ll take on the whole damn school, I don’t give a shit! Eight-to-two mofos, let’s do this.”

“Uh, fuck that, this is a new game. Zero-zero,” Gus insisted.

“Then Cyrus has to concede. Like the bitch he is.”

“Uh...” Cyrus paused, glancing between his two friends. Was it too soon to make a gay joke? “Fuck you. Rude.”

Yeah, he wasn’t there quite yet.

“It’s not rude it’s domination!” Marty performed an over-exaggerated flex, drawing the attention of a pair of skeptical girls who took Gus’s spot on the couch. Cyrus found himself wishing he could be surprised that this was how his friend was behaving, but he’d seen how Marty acted when their team won a soccer game.

This was, if anything, a little tame.

“God, I forgot how obnoxiously competitive you get...” Gus muttered, shaking his head as he fruitlessly spun the handles in front of him.

“Then get good—get on my freaking level, man!”

“Okay, this was clearly a—“

“Hey guys. Um... need a fourth?”

It wasn’t that Cyrus wanted to make his surprise at seeing Jonah obvious. It was just that he was at the end of his first day as a—relatively—openly gay man, and he hadn’t seen a hint of Jonah since Friday, and his emotions were a little bit fried, and really, was it his fault if he almost choked on his own tongue as soon as he heard his best friend’s voice?

“No thanks, J-man, I don’t need your—“

“Actually, you know what?” Gus interrupted, leveling a glare at a confused looking Marty. “You and Cy can play, we were just heading out.”

“What? We were—no, Jonah, you can play next. I was just about to kick their asses but I’ll have plenty left in the tank for you.”

Jonah stood at the corner of the table, an awkwardly tight smile on his face as Marty stared at Gus with confusion.

“No,” Gus responded slowly, “we were just going to go study. Remember?”

“Study? What do you—Gus, we don’t even have any classes together, why would we study—“

“I don’t know, how 'bout the fuckin’... SAT? Right? The thing we all have to—okay, fuck it. Just come with me.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Gus walked around the game table. Marty only seemed to connect the dots as his bespectacled friend reached out to grab him by the arm.

“Ohhhh... Right. The SAT. We need to study for the—alright, just don’t forget that I dominate and—fuck, okay, I’m going!”

With Gus still pulling him along, the two teens retreated from the common room, leaving Jonah and Cyrus alone—or at least as alone as they could be in a room filled with students.

“So that happened.”

Cyrus tried to keep his face from showing the avalanche of emotion and confusion crashing around his chest. As Jonah simply nodded at his attempt at levity—not even cracking a grin—he couldn’t stop the anxiety from beginning to rise up in his throat. 

_Jonah’s not going to leave you. He’s not._

He tried repeating Amber’s words as a mantra—fuck, he wanted to believe them so bad—but if they were true, why did Jonah look like he was about to attend a funeral?

“Are you okay with...” Jonah hesitated, taking a second to look around at the collection of other students sitting within eavesdropping distance. “We can go outside if you want.”

“No, it’s... fine? I guess?” Cyrus shrugged, reaching over to grab the little gray ball from his goal and holding it out for his friend. “First to ten?”

It wasn’t actually fine. He had no idea how many people in the room had heard the rumors—he had no idea if this was going to be the kind of conversation that should be had in private—but he was still trying to convince himself that it wasn’t a big deal. That none of it mattered. Keeping secrets had gotten him into this... mess. And not that he was planning on living a life of one-hundred percent public transparency, but at some point, he either had to acknowledge the futility of his efforts or drive himself insane.

Cyrus still wasn’t entirely sure what side of that line he’d fallen on.

Jonah eyed the ball that Cyrus held over the center of the table, and Cyrus felt a trill of fear that he might refuse. But after a moment of silence, the older teen sighed, reaching over to grip the handles and nodded.

“First to ten.”

The first point only lasted a few seconds, Jonah flipping the ball into Cyrus’s goal almost as soon as it landed on the field.

“Cy—“

“If you don’t want to be friends with me anymore, I’d appreciate if you’d just start with that.” Maybe it wasn’t the most encouraging opening statement, but Cyrus felt a sudden need to get all his cards out on the table. He just needed something concrete. “I mean, not that I want that—that’s not... but honestly if you’re disgusted, or whatever, I don’t—“

“Disgusted? Is that—Cy, do you really think that’s what this is about?” Almost robotically, Jonah tossed the ball back onto the center of the table. The second point only lasted a fraction of a second longer than the first, this time with one of Cyrus’s wild spins getting the goal off a rebound.

“I hope not.” Cyrus continued to stare at the game, only risking quick glances up at the other teen.

He didn’t expect for Jonah to look... sad.

“I don’t have a problem with gay people.” It came out as more of a whisper, like Jonah was surprised it even needed to be said. “Least of all you. Cyrus, you’re my best friend, and—“

“You’re my best friend too.”

The third point was won by Jonah before Cyrus even made a move. He was too focused on his best friend’s face, and the ghost of a smirk that had shown up for just a moment.

“Good.” It was so quiet, Cyrus wasn’t completely sure he’d heard it as the other teen took a deep breath.

“You’ve been my best friend for a long time,” Jonah continued, staring at the ball in his hand as he spoke. “And I think that was why I... right. I mean, I’ve always trusted you, man. More than anyone else. I told you when my family lost our house in eighth grade. I told you about all the issues I had when I was dating Andi and Libby... I told you everything.”

Jonah glanced up, and Cyrus futilely tried to hide emotions welling up in his chest with a short nod. Jonah won the fourth point after a quick rally.

“And I thought you did the same with me—I thought we told each other everything. But then you started acting strange, and... you didn’t. I gave you a few chances, I even asked you, but still. Half the school knew before me. I didn’t—“

“I’m sorry.” The words escaped Cyrus’s throat, soft and half-choked, before he’d even decided what to say. Because it was true. Because everything Jonah had just said was true—since they were eleven, they had always shared everything with each other. Parents, life, puberty—despite his frequent complaints, Jonah had made it a habit to alert Cyrus to every new pube, voice crack, and bodily change in the first year of that ‘miraculous’ time in their lives. They really did tell each other everything.

And then, Cyrus didn’t.

“No—Cyrus, please don’t. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I...” Jonah paused to take a deep breath, and then—just like that—they able to meet each others’ eyes. “I shouldn’t have walked away like that on Friday. I shouldn’t have—it hurt to know that you felt like you could talk with Reed, and Amber, and even my exes more than you could with me. But it took me way too long to realize that I should have been mad at myself, for that. Not you.”

“Jonah...”

“No, let me... I was arguing with myself all weekend, and I realized, if you thought I wouldn’t understand, it was because of something I did. Right? Maybe I made too many gay jokes when we were younger, or... or maybe I didn’t say the right things when we talked politics. I don’t know if it was one thing or a lot of things, but I’m sorry, man. And I promise I support you. One-hundred percent.”

“Thank you...” he didn’t know what else to say.

“I love you, man.”

For a second Cyrus was dumbstruck. How was he supposed to respond to hearing the exact thing he’d wanted for years—even if he didn’t realize it? What was the right way to respond when his heart was beating so hard, he thought he thought it might explode out of his chest?

“I love you, too, Jo.” Cyrus wiped at his suddenly blurry eyes. “And I am sorry—honestly, no, I am—about all the lying. I just... I didn’t know how to tell the truth about this. I couldn’t even say it to myself.”

“It’s okay, Cy.”

“No, it’s stupid,” Cyrus scoffed, still rubbing at his eyes. “It’s stupid because—fuck, I mean who really cares, right? It’s 2019, and no one gives a shit, and I still just couldn’t—“

He wasn’t sure when Jonah had stopped standing on the other side of the table—his stupid vision just would not clear up no matter how hard he rubbed at his eyes—but suddenly his words were cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around his torso and pulling him into an incredibly tight hug.

“It’s okay, Cy.” The repeated words were barely a whisper, Cyrus felt more than heard them as he let himself be pulled against Jonah’s chest. And then he was returning the hug, and fuck did it feel incredible to have his friend’s arms wrapped around him. Even if he was probably getting the shoulder of Jonah’s jacket embarrassingly wet.

“Thank you.” 

It was pretty much all he could say.

“Don’t ever go through something like this alone again, okay?” Jonah whispered as he squeezed Cyrus even tighter. There were probably people staring at them, they both knew that, but Cyrus couldn’t find it in himself to care. “I’m here for you, Cyrus. Always. Okay?”

“Okay.” Cyrus nodded. He could feel the arms around his shoulders loosening but he held tight to Jonah’s shirt. He needed a few more seconds to compose himself. Especially once he felt Jonah press a quick retreating kiss against his shoulder.

Fuck, if only that had happened, like, three years sooner. There’s no way a 13-year-old Cyrus could have gotten out of this hug without fainting. Or at least a massively embarrassing... physical issue.

Luckily—or, depending on your point of view, unluckily—it seemed Cyrus had entirely moved on to someone new.

“Good,” with a light, wet laugh, Jonah patted his younger friend’s shoulder, finally releasing him to lean against the game table. “So now that that’s out of the way, you can finally give me the dirt on this TJ-guy. I don’t care who he is, no one gets to steal my best friend’s heart without my approval.”

Chuckling, Cyrus wiped away the last few tears that escaped onto his cheek. Jonah’s suddenly appraising stare made his heart titter, even if he had nothing positive to report.

“I’ve got nothing,” he shook his head, trying to keep his grin from falling. “I haven’t even seen him since last week.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Nothing.”

“Well fuck him, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

Just Jonah’s delivery, as if someone not dating Cyrus was the dumbest choice in the world, was enough to elicit a burst a burst of laughter from the younger teen. As if Cyrus was the ultimate catch. As if TJ wasn’t the impressive, ridiculously attractive older artist, whom half the school probably wanted to get into bed.

Cyrus looked over his shoulder at the still untouched diversity mural. The one TJ volunteered to correct and that Cyrus had volunteered to help with. That was the kind of guy that TJ was—at the school for less than a year and already finding a way to make a lasting mark.

Cyrus had always planned on disappearing fast and being forgotten even faster. But now...

“We were supposed to work on that together,” Cyrus nodded at the wall. He was happy to find his voice was surprisingly normal, considering he felt like he was still one sappy word away from even more tears. “Repaint it. I think I convinced myself it would be like a... date.”

“We could do it, if you want.” Cyrus turned around just in time to see Jonah shrugging with a smirk on his face. “Well, except I almost failed art last year, so we should probably bring Marty and Gus too.”

“Yeah?” An almost painfully large smile began to blossom on Cyrus’s face.

“Of course.”

“Can I still pretend it’s a date?” Cyrus laughed, and again as Jonah slowly shook his head with a rueful smile.

“Sure. I’ve been in a long enough dry spell, anyway,” Jonah chuckled. “Want me to bring candles? Wine? You can tell me all the things you used to find irresistible about me.”

“Oh my god,” Cyrus groaned. “That—fuck everything else, telling you that was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

“You say that now,” Jonah teased, walking over to throw an arm around Cyrus’s shoulder and pulling the shorter teen close. “But we’ll see how you feel when your down three glasses of whatever wine I can swipe off my parents.”

“We’re not drinking wine at school, Jonah,” Cyrus rolled his eyes, trying and failing to fight the grin forcing itself onto his face.

“Oh but there simply must be wine,” Jonah declared dramatically before glancing over to meet Cyrus’s gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! That’s what makes it a date!”

**_Tuesday, 10:56 AM_ **

“Good morning, Cyrus,” Mrs. Regis’s voice rang out from the back of the classroom as Cyrus walked through the doorway. They still had a few minutes before the bell, and it appeared as if most of his classmates were taking full advantage of the short break between periods, as only a few seats had been filled.

“Morning, Mrs. Regis.”

“Go ahead and get your packet out, we’re gonna be going over the first five pages once class starts.”

Cyrus’s nod went unnoticed as his teacher returned to digging through the cabinets at the back of the classroom. With a shrug, he began searching his bag, pulling out his textbook with the packet shoved into it before he’d even reached his bench. It was a bad habit he'd never really been able to break, shoving important papers between the pages of his textbooks. His neatly labeled folders sat mostly unused in his locker while everything he ever turned in had torn, bent, and ratty edge. But he never had to worry about losing things, and he only had to remember the one book every night, so he doubted he was ever going to change. Even if Mrs. Regis had already made at least one comment about it.

“Morning,” he nodded at Andi as he flipped open his book. If she responded, though, Cyrus completely missed it. He was far too distracted by the folded piece of paper that tumbled out from between the pages as he tried to find his work packet. A folded piece of paper made from the familiar, thick stock normally reserved for art classes.

He was starting to feel like he had his own, personal Banksy.

He wanted to ignore it—he had more important things to focus on than another one of TJ’s notes—but... honestly. In what universe was there ever a chance that he wasn’t going to open it immediately?

Once again, there were two drawings—Cyrus couldn't decide if TJ's rapid embrace of the parallel universe idea was charming or insulting—this time of solely the raccoon, no ‘Underdog’ in sight. There was no caption, either, but this time the sketches didn’t really need it. In the first box, the TJ-raccoon, complete with its very own hoodie, was staring sadly at his phone. The dark screen of the device contrasted with the second drawing, almost identical except for the fact that the raccoon was smiling widely, and the phone in his hand was lit up with a new message.

_Cyrus: Thank you for the cute drawing, when did you put it in my pocket?_

_TJ: I snuck it in at the cafeteria when we were in line together. And I put this one in your bag while you were in PE._

_TJ: P.S. I miss you. A lot._

Staring was pretty much all Cyrus could manage, because... how was he supposed to respond to that? His brain wasn't sure, his heart felt confused. Even the way his gut twisted felt unsure about itself. If anything, he was even more confused after reading the note than before it.

Because— _fuck_ —TJ missed him?

Because the notes were sweet—weird, yes, but that maybe made them even sweeter—but... why? If TJ missed him, why use cute drawings instead of the phone? Instead of talking in person? TJ had never come off as the shy, bashful type to send messages from afar—Cyrus struggled to imagine a middle school-aged TJ leaving a ' _Do you like me? Yes/No_ ' note on a classmate's desk, even if the thought was... astonishingly adorable. The older teen had always come off as confident, so very forward in trying to get what he wanted. But here he was, leaving notes and observing from afar as if they were still ten, and shy, and confused. As if...

As if TJ was scared.

But that didn't make any sense. Especially because TJ was the one who pushed him away in the first place.

It was confusing. It was confusing because Cyrus wasn't sure how much he was supposed to be reading into these notes. It was confusing because the notes seemed to point to a TJ who was very different from the guy Cyrus thought he knew. A TJ who was nervous—a TJ who was maybe waiting for him to reach out first?—in a way that Cyrus had never seen from the older teen. But the most confusing part was that, even as he folded up the note and slipped it into his pocket, Cyrus couldn’t shake off the feeling that all of it—the notes, the weirdness, the nervousness—was coming from something... honest.

It just didn’t feel like someone who was fucking around.

And how was he supposed to respond to that?

He needed a distraction before he lost an entire day to pondering the mysteries of TJ Kippen.

“Let me guess, you’ve already finished the whole packet?” Cyrus leaned over to poke at Andi, trying to erase the note from his mind. At least for the short term.

“Just about,” Andi sighed, slapping Cyrus’s hand away as she studied the thick bundle of pages in front of her. “I think I may have made a few mistakes though.”

“You? Make mistakes?” Cyrus forced a dry chuckle, finally pulling out his own packet and trying to remember what had been on the first five pages. He'd been in a pretty hazy mindset when filling it out—the previous week had not exactly been kind on his GPA. “I’ll alert the media.”

“It does happen, sometimes,” Andi sighed again before carefully closing her book and turning on her stool until she was mostly facing Cyrus.

“Happens to the best of us.”

“Like...” Andi paused, seeming to weigh a few options in her head before quickly nodding and exhaling. “Like a few weeks ago. I might have made a mistake about... yelling at you.”

Cyrus looked up from his book, eyebrows raised as he turned to meet Andi’s gaze.

“I was wrong to say that you would never understand the bravery it took for Libby to come out. I... well, I didn’t understand why you were asking all those questions, but I shouldn’t have, y’know... yelled.”

This was... unexpected.

“To be fair, you technically didn’t yell,” the air was thick with tension, and Cyrus felt a strong urge to lighten the atmosphere before things became too 'emotional.' The last thing he needed was yet another teary reconciliation on school grounds. He really didn't need his reputation to become 'the guy who came out as gay and then cried every day for a week.' Besides, yeah, he'd been shaken by Andi’s words that day—and her extremely unexpected anger—but, to be honest, he didn’t blame her. “It was more of an angry whisper.”

“That’s not my point, and you know it,” Andi shook her head, a small grin betraying the seriousness in her voice. “I shouldn’t have assumed that I knew where you coming from, and I shouldn't have assumed that you wouldn’t understand what it was like for her. I got defensive when I thought you were mocking her, but... I should have known you weren't like that. And I really shouldn’t have attacked you like that. You are strong Cyrus. Obviously.”

“I...” Cyrus swallowed, surprised to find a bit of tightness in his throat as he hesitated. “Thanks, Andi.”

“And... I’m also sorry that I listened to Shelly when she told me she had gossip about you. I, um... yeah. Not my proudest moment.”

“Gossip is pretty hard to resist,” Cyrus shrugged, filing away Shelly’s name on the list of people spreading his secret. She made five—all, as far as he knew, within one degree of separation from Iris’s social circle.

“Still. I shouldn't have, and... anyway, like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Cyrus couldn’t hold back the grin as Andi shook her head beside him. He could have left it there, but... transparency was now his middle name, after all. “But, I mean, you weren’t entirely wrong.”

“Hmm?”

Cyrus took a little joy in the confusion on Andi’s face.

“I may understand what it’s like being gay—though, let's be honest, I'm still sort of figuring that out myself—but I’m still an able-bodied white guy. Jewish, but... you get the point. I definitely don't understand what it’s like to be a Deaf, bi woman.”

“I guess that’s... true.” Cyrus watched as Andi chewed her lip on the side of her mouth. “I mean, to be fair, I can’t say I do either.”

“Yeah, but you try to. And you understand Libby, and you support her,” Cyrus shrugged, looking up as Libby walked into the room, excitedly signing something to Gus who appeared to be struggling to follow. “Just like she supports you even though she doesn’t exactly know what it takes to be a Chinese-American woman with your, y’know... family situation."

“Did you have trouble remembering if it was Chinese or a different ethnicity?”

“Yes. But that’s not the point.”

“Right,” Andi scoffed. “So then what is the point.”

“Just that... I dunno. We all have different facets of who we are that combine to make life shitty in new and exciting ways,” Cyrus shrugged, a sarcastic smile on his lips. “Some of us have a lot. Some... not so much. But you were right. I’m never gonna get it exactly right.”

"So... what you're saying is that the new-and-improved gay Cyrus is still going to make hilarious social _faux pas_ —put your foot in your mouth at almost every possible opportunity?"

"Oh, absolutely," Cyrus chuckled. "I figured that was a given."

"Good to know," he felt a light shove as Andi reached out to punch his shoulder. "I'd hate to lose that source of entertainment."

"Yeah, yeah. Happy someone's getting some joy out of my pain."

“I guess you're right, though," Andi hummed, sounding almost as if her mind had transitioned onto something else. "Everyone fucks up sometimes."

"Even you?"

"Don't push it," Andi rolled her eyes, not entirely successful in keeping the grin off her face. "I'm just saying, what separates the assholes from the non-assholes is... trying. Trying to understand, and do better. And not assuming you know everything.”

"Buffy said I was one of the few non-assholes in the school," Cyrus replied with a grin.

"Yeah, well Buffy's always had a soft spot for you," Andi shook her head once again before turning back to the front of the room. "We'll see, maybe she's right."

“Mmm, feel that love and support,” Cyrus closed his eyes, placing his hands over his heart. "Feels good."

A moment passed, with Andi staring through the whiteboard as if there was nothing there. The quiet chatter of the room grew louder as the last of their classmates arrived, until it was covered up for a few seconds by the sound of the bell, and then silenced once and for all by Mrs. Regis clearing her throat.

“That was surprisingly wise of you, Goodman.” It was barely a whisper, like maybe Andi didn't actually want him—or anyone else—to hear it. Still, he caught her glancing over their bench as if to make sure the compliment had been received.

“Thanks,” Cyrus grinned, turning back to the front of the room and Mrs. Regis started the class. “I’m trying to get better about that. And thanks, for the apology, Mack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andi shook her head, flipping to the front of her packet as Mrs. Regis started to call roll. “Just don’t get used to it.”

**_Wednesday, 12:17 PM_ **

Seven people.

Cyrus had asked around—Jonah and Gus did some legwork of their own—and the general consensus of their little gang was that seven people had been the root of all of the gossip still circulating around Jefferson. He was lucky, he supposed, that with so many mouths, the rumors had yet to morph into something more damaging. Aside from the people who focused mostly on how he'd fucked over Iris, the opinion of him appeared to have stayed mostly neutral. But still.

Seven people.

That meant he had seven reasons to be mad at Iris.

So why was it that, as he steeled his heart after seeing her in the middle of the courtyard, and marched through the doors, Cyrus couldn't seem to get that anger to to make itself appear?

"Iris—"

"Oh, Jesus..."

Even as Iris rolled her eyes, immediately turning to walk in the other direction, Cyrus couldn't summon any of that righteous anger. She had, after all, essentially outed him to the entire school—but there was no fire in his chest. No rage in his voice. Maybe if things had gone worse; if he'd been attacked or had his locker graffitied, the rage would have been there. But it didn't go bad. Not that it made Iris's actions okay, but...

He felt more uncomfortable than angry. He didn’t like having this much bad blood with... anyone.

"Iris, wait. Please."

"Is anyone else getting the sense of _deja vu_?" Cyrus could hear the frustration in her voice, could see how much she didn't want to be there even as she turned around to face him. "Or is this just how it always goes with you?"

"I'm sorry, Iris." He hadn't been expecting to say that. He'd been gearing himself up all morning for yet another confrontation about who she was telling and what she was saying, but as soon as he saw the look in her eyes, Cyrus knew that it wasn't worth it. Arguing about it wasn't going to fix anything—it wouldn't undo the damage. And even if it wasn't obvious as he stared at him, looking almost as surprised as he was, he couldn't stop picturing how hurt she'd looked when they fought at her party. "I'm sorry for how I spoke to you last time, and... I'm just sorry for all of it. Okay?"

"Okay..." He watched as she carefully crossed her arms over her chest. "Definitely a better start this time around."

"You were right." Cyrus moved to take a step closer but faltered as Iris visibly pulled back. Apparently, this conversation would be taking place with about eight feet of space between them. "I did use you."

He didn't expect to see her face drop, just for a moment, as he said that. He thought he was just confirming what they both already knew—those were Iris's words! Still, there was no smug victory in the way Iris glanced down at the ground as she nodded.

"I, um... Look, I know it's not an excuse for what I did, but when we first met, I didn't mean for it to all be a lie. I—" Iris scoffed, but it surprisingly didn't sound vindictive, "—saw you and we got to talk and... honestly, at first I hoped that I could make it work with you. I wanted it to work. And I couldn't admit to myself that I knew that it wouldn't. Not because of you—that it wouldn't work with any girl."

"Yeah," Iris nodded, voice low as she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "I think I get that now."

"Yeah, you pretty much hit the target on the whole 'you're gay' thing. So... kudos on that, I guess."

"Please don't try to make me laugh," Iris shook her head, but despite her still-unfriendly tone, her shoulders began to relax.

"Yeah, right, sorry," Cyrus nodded, holding his hands up in apology. "I just... I didn't mean to fuck it up this much. I should have ended things as soon as I started to suspect the truth, but I was freaked out. And I lied to you, and I hurt you, and I wish there was something I could do to make you believe me, but I am so sorry."

It wasn't the October winds that sent shivers across Cyrus's skin as Iris stared at him with an appraising glare. The judgment was powerful, and it was making him jittery. And anxious. He felt like he was waiting for the ball to drop—for Iris to turn and run, or for the screaming to start. He was waiting for the bad blood to boil once again.

"You fuck," there was a tone of resignation in Iris's voice as she looked off the side of her shoulder. "Did you know I believed you? Even when Maria told me you were just talking out of your ass, I believed you. Right up until you disappeared with TJ."

"Yeah," Cyrus sighed. "Yeah, and I know how shitty that is." 

Cyrus stopped himself before he could get into specifics. It wasn't the right time to try for pity points.

"I just didn't expect it from you," Iris murmured as she turned back to meet his stare. She looked more sad than angry, and Cyrus couldn't decide if that was supposed to be good. "I just—I spent way too long trying to figure out why you did it, but... I couldn't. I'm not in your shoes. I don't know how I would react if I was—who I would have lied to just to protect myself. I don't know how I would handle being in your place."

"Still," Cyrus shook his head. "I don't think I handled it particularly well. I was a pretty shitty boyfriend."

"You were, yeah. But I think I can understand—at least a little. But—" suddenly, Iris was standing tall again, taking a step forward as he pointed at Cyrus's chest, "—don't think that means I forgive you yet."

"I, uh—no," Cyrus swallowed around the tightness in his throat as Iris leveled another appraising glare in his direction. "I get it."

"I just... I need some time before I can do that."

And honestly, that was a lot more than Cyrus was expecting to get.

"I... thanks." The smile that grew as Iris nodded and he nodded back wasn't fully happy—it had just as much pain and sadness in it as the look Iris was giving him. Because things weren't... good between them—and that still sucked. 

But still.

Not wanting to force anything, Cyrus began to turn when the hand shot out to grab his wrist.

"Wait—Cyrus, I..." he turned around just in time to see Iris sigh, staring at the ground as she let his arm slip through her fingers. "I'm sorry too."

He couldn't stop his eyes from growing wide.

"Yeah, I know, I just..." another sigh, but then Iris was meeting his stare with her own guilty frown. "I may have been a little... too serious about getting payback. I, uh... may have run my mouth to a few people."

Cyrus decided not to comment on whether seven still counted as 'a few,' opting for a short nod instead.

"I... yeah. I sort of figured."

"I know I shouldn't have, I was just... If I could stop it, I would. That was shitty of me."

"Yeah, well..." Cyrus shrugged. Maybe it was how disappointed she looked in herself, but the anger just wouldn't come. "Now we both have things we'd like to undo."

"Still—"

"Look, I'm not exactly ready to forgive you for that either. But..." Cyrus let out a sigh, shaking his head. "It's actually sort of nice, not worrying about keeping it a secret. Could have gone worse."

"Right..." Cyrus saw just the faint ghost of a smirk on Iris's lips, and... it was sort of nice.

"Just don't be surprised if my friends give you dirty looks for a few weeks."

"Yeah, um, same here."

"Seems like a fair trade to me," Cyrus shrugged, scratching behind his ear as Iris shook her head.

"In any case, I, uh... I'm happy for you and TJ. Well, not happy, but—"

"No, it's..." Cyrus hesitated, unsure of how much she would actually want to hear. Short and simple seemed like the best option. "We're not together."

"No?" Iris sounded surprised, with a hint of laughter under her voice.

"Yeah, I think I may have gotten a bit carried away with how much I trusted him."

"Yeah," Iris nodded. "I get that."

It wasn't exactly comfortable, as the two of them took a second to nod, and stare, and try to decide if there was anything else that needed to be said. But it wasn't completely uncomfortable either. Which, considering how much pain they'd caused each other over the past few weeks, was sort of the closest thing to a miracle that Cyrus could have expected. 

They weren't friends, and he wasn't holding out hope that they would be, but maybe they could finally stop ruining each others' lives.

Cyrus couldn't help but feel that maybe if they'd just... talked to each other—with words that were actually truthful—this whole thing could have been avoided. Maybe then, Iris would have been able to do more than offer a sad smile at the mention of his problems with TJ.

"Well, see you later, Cyrus." Iris tugged her jacket tighter around her shoulders, swinging slightly before turning to her side.

"Yeah," Cyrus allowed himself a soft smile. "See you."

The smile didn't disappear when Iris turned to leave. It was still there a few minutes later, when Jonah and Libby found him leaning against the wall, turning TJ's still folded note between his fingers.

"What's got you so smiley?" Jonah grinned, poking at Cyrus's shoulder in an attempt to get the younger teen's attention. 

"Nothing much," Cyrus said as he looked up to see his best friend's smirk. "I'm just beginning to think that honesty and communication may actually be the solution to all of life's problems."

"Thank you!" Jonah practically shouted, turning to Libby with an expectant look, only to be met with a dismissive eye-roll. "Sorry, I was _just_ in the middle of telling Libby that she needed to be honest with Walker."

"You're giving out relationship advice?" Cyrus asked, skeptical as he looked between his two friends. "And you're looking to Jonah for relationship advice?"

"I know," Libby signed, shaking her head. "I was hoping for something better than what Andi and Buffy have been giving me."

"And you got it," Jonah clapped his hands, smiling cockily. "Told ya' I learned something from all those failed relationships."

"Glad to see that our glorious three weeks of romance weren't a complete waste of time," Libby rolled her eyes yet again, this time with a smirk on her lips.

"Hey! It was totally more than three weeks."

"No, I think she's right, Jo," Cyrus laughed as Jonah turned to give him a 'shut up' glare. "No, yeah, I think you guys hooked up at my birthday party—my mom was royally pissed—and you broke up before you could enact your disastrous April Fool's Day plan."

"There was an April Fool's Day plan?" Libby turned to Jonah with a wide smile. "Please, enlighten me."

"What? No, I—" Jonah took a step back, shaking his head as Cyrus laughed and Libby smile turned devilish. "Fucking hell. Libby, you go talk to your goddamn boyfriend, Cyrus you come with me to pick up my pizza, and—no. Both of you stop looking at me like that!"

"Jonah..."

"C'mon, Jo," Cyrus grinned, pretending to struggle as his best friend began dragging him toward the parking lot where a Domino's delivery driver was probably waiting. 

"Fuck you," Jonah muttered as he glared over his shoulder. "Last time I give you fuckers any relationship advice."

Cyrus just laughed, shook his head, and let himself be dragged along.

**_Friday, 6:14 PM_ **

"I thought..." Gus chewed on his lip as he stepped back to examine their handiwork. "I thought primer was supposed to, like... make it white."

"Maybe we didn't use enough?"

Cyrus tossed his white-encrusted brush onto the protective sheet that covered the floor of the common room. Buffy had forced them to cover pretty much every surface short of the ceiling before finally leaving with the ominous warning of, 'If you paint a giant dick, I will absolutely kill you all before Metcalf even finds out about it.'

"Maybe they just used super paint when they made this thing," Marty shrugged.

"Should we do another coat?" Jonah asked.

It had taken significantly longer than Cyrus had expected to put down the cloths and tape off the bottom of the wall and finish the first layer of primer. Like, way longer. And it was incredibly depressing, after all that work, to step back and see that the ugly primary colors of the mural were still shining through the hazy white layer of paint. 

"Maybe it'll look better when it dries?" Cyrus offered.

"Nah, it's pretty dry over here," Jonah pressed his fingers against his corner of the wall only to pull back a still-clean hand. "I think we fucked it up."

"How the fuck do you fuck up painting?" Marty tossed his roller to the ground in exasperation.

"Can we just paint the whole thing black? Please?" Gus whined. "I really don't want to be stuck here all night."

"What, like you have something better to do?" Jonah joked, jumping down from the table and tossing his brush into the slowly growing pile of used painting equipment. 

"I don't even think we have black," Cyrus muttered, staring down at the surprising number of paint cans littering the floor near his feet. Buffy had somehow convinced Metcalf to buy them an entire rainbow of hues—but not, as far as he could tell, black.

"Damn. Well, I'm out of ideas."

"Alright, Cy," Jonah tossed him a can of soda from across the room—Cyrus had absolutely forbidden him from bringing wine to school—before offering one to the other two. "Your call. Are we doing another coat of primer?"

"What? Why's it my call?" Cyrus asked as he cracked open the still-chilly beverage. Grape flavored. Not exactly his favorite. "I don't know shit about this."

"Because this is your thing," Marty called over his shoulder while examining their available colors.

"Uh, no it's not," Cyrus shook his head. "I don't know shit about art. Or paint."

"Then fine, it's your boyfriend's thing, whatever. You're the one who got us into this mess."

Cyrus paused halfway through raising the can to his lips to stare at the back of Marty's head. Yes, he had told them about TJ—it had come up at lunch after Marty had asked if he was 'gay in theory, or in practice'—but he thought he had made one thing exceedingly clear.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Still?" Jonah groaned, not looking up from the can of yellow paint he was prying open with his car keys. "I was hoping there was some news on that front."

"Oh yeah," Cyrus rolled his eyes, swallowing down the awkward lump trying to form in his throat with a mouthful of artificial grape flavor. "I forgot to mention, he showed up at the apartment last night and swept me off for a romantic date in Paris. News... no, there's no news. I haven't seen him or heard from him since last week."

"Not even a text?" Gus asked. "By the way, sidebar: I'm making the decision—fuck a second coat, we're painting it like this."

"Nope, no text," Cyrus shrugged. And then hesitated, just for a moment. Because, true, there hadn't been a text. But even when telling his friends about his relatively short history with TJ, Cyrus had never brought up... "He did, uh... leave a note, though. In my backpack."

"A note?" Jonah seemed to perk up, one eyebrow raised as he looked up from the can of paint.

"In your backpack?" Gus added.

"What a loser," Marty chuckled, shaking his head.

"Seriously," Gus began bubbling with light laughter as well, "what is this, a romance novel?"

"Or a soap opera!" Marty put his hand to his forehead, feigning a dramatic flourish. "Gays of our Lives."

"Ugh, goddamnit, Marty, that was horrible," Jonah chucked one of the paint-covered brushes as the taller teen's head, missing by a fraction of an inch. "But seriously, the hell? He can leave notes in your bag, but he can't talk to you in person? That's weak."

"Well, I mean..." It wasn't explicitly Cyrus's goal to defend TJ to his friends—he still wasn't sure how he wanted to feel about the older teen. It was more like he felt the need to... justify himself. "He sorta tried to talk to me. Last week."

"Okay, see, that's a good—"

"I brushed him off."

It was the first time Cyrus had ever heard all three of his friends sigh at the same time. And almost in harmony.

"Cyrus. Come on, man."

"What!" The youngest of the group threw his arms out in exasperation. "I was dealing with some shit, alright! And—fuck!—I don't know, I was mad! It was right after I saw him making out with the girl who was supposed to be his ex, and..." he looked from Jonah to Marty to Gus and shrugged. "Not my best move, but it made sense in the moment."

"Hey, nothing wrong with sticking up for yourself, man," Jonah said as he got to work opening yet another can of paint—turquoise, this time.

"I just... He's with Kira, then he says he wants me, then he goes back to her, then he says he misses me... Like, what the fuck. Eventually, he has to choose, right?"

"Absolutely," Gus pointed at Cyrus with one of the freshly opened brushes he was setting out near the cans of paint. "Stand your ground, man. It's can be tough, but I get ya—had the same thing happen to me once."

"Uh... What?" Marty looked up, a paintbrush in each hand. "Since when the fuck?"

"Oh, uh... spring break last year," Gus answered, waving his hands dismissively. "This chick I met in Colorado was into me but said she had a boyfriend back home. It was this whole thing; she said it was more complicated because they lived together, and—"

"Wait," Jonah took a step forward. "Lived together... how old was she?"

"I dunno, nineteen?" Gus shrugged. "Not old enough to buy me beer yet? It's whatever."

"Dude, what the fuck?"

"How is this the first time we're hearing that you hooked up with college chick!" Marty's voice came out hilariously strained, like he was struggling to hold himself back from just... exploding at his friend.

"Because she chose her boyfriend, it's whatever—Look, what I'm saying is that you have to stand your ground," Gus brushed Marty aside, turning to face Cyrus with a stare filled with confidence, "and be direct. He has to make a decision."

"Yeah, Gus is right, Cy." Jonah turned to face him as well, apparently not nearly as bothered by Gus's sordid history as the still-awestruck Marty. "You need to send him a message before this gets any worse."

"Like... right now?" Cyrus's eyes grew wide as Jonah and Gus nodded aggressively. "Yeah, but... what do I even say?"

"You make him choose," Jonah scratched at the back of his head. "Uh... Okay, here. You tell him 'either you stop with the drawings and leave me alone, or we're together.' Don't give him a chance to go for a middle route."

"He's right, you have to give him an ultimatum," Gus explained, going back to arranging the paint cans. "Because this weird middle ground is a: unsustainable; and b: really fucking annoying to watch."

Cyrus hesitated, glancing back and forth between his three friends who were busying themselves with getting ready to paint the wall. 

An ultimatum? 'Date me or leave me alone,' would that really work? Not that he didn't trust his friend's advice, but, well... they were his friends. His friends were idiots.

_Idiots with more dating experience than you._

But what if TJ didn't react well to the ultimatum? He seemed like the kind of guy who didn't like being forced into difficult choices—in fact, he had told Cyrus as much the morning after their night together. What if TJ got upset at Cyrus for making him choose—especially since Kira seemed so willing to let him go back and forth as he pleased. What if TJ rejected him out of hand, just because he forced this issue?

Just the thought made his chest grow tight.

"Now, Cyrus!"

No. His friends were right. He couldn't handle this 'maybe, maybe not,' middle ground he'd been living in for the past few weeks. Did TJ miss him? Did he want them to talk? Because he was the one who had pushed Cyrus away. He was the one who made the wrong decision.

If he wanted to fix things, it would have to be under Cyrus's rules.

_Cyrus: Thanks for the drawings but i don't understand what you're playing at. If you're not interested stop trying to contact me._

"There."

“Finally!” Marty shouted as Gus gave him a thumbs up. “Now can someone tell me what the plan with this thing is? I’m thinking purple all around... here.”

Any thoughts of distracting himself with the mural disappeared when he felt his phone almost immediately vibrate in his hand.

_TJ: Can i call you?_

“Guys? Guys, what do I do?” Cyrus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, even as his friends dropped what they were doing and sprinted over to him.

“What’d he say?” Gus asked, grabbing for Cyrus’s phone. The younger boy struggled with his friend over the device for a second before wrenching it from his hand and taking a step back.

“He wants to call me—he wants to talk! What do I do? Shit, what do I say!”

“Yes?” Marty glanced between the three of them. “I mean, there you go, right? Problem solved.”

“What? No—“ Gus gave Marty a disgusted look before shoving at his shoulder, “—you want him to think Cy’s a pushover? No, no, no. Tell him you can’t.”

“What?” Cyrus's head snapped up from where it had fallen to once again stare at the screen. He felt as confused as Marty looked.

“Good point, man,” Jonah agreed. “He fucked up—you gotta make sure he understands that you’re the boss now. Tell him you’re busy.”

“Okay, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I am not meant to be the boss of—“

“Just tell him!” Gus and Jonah shouted at the same time.

“Fine! Fine, just... what do I—do I send him a ‘busy’ GIF?”

“Oh yeah,” Gus rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Make sure to find the perfect GIF, and then don’t forget to sign it ‘love you, kisses.’ No, Goodman, you don’t send him a GIF.”

“Just tell him...” Jonah chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds, his hands waving through the air. “Tell him you can’t talk because you’re busy painting the wall.”

“Yeah... right, okay, I can do that,” Cyrus nodded, half distracted as he stared at his phone.

He could do this.

_Cyrus: can’t talk now. I’m painting over the mural in the common room._

Okay. That was it. He was done—he’d put TJ on hold, and now he just needed to focus on the mural. His friends were focusing on the mural—they had all turned back to the wall to decide on their plan almost immediately after he started typing. He just needed to join them, to give himself a distraction and let his mind unfocus for a while, and—

Why the fuck hadn’t TJ responded yet?

“Guys, he hasn’t said anything.” Cyrus continued to stare at his phone, hating himself for how badly he wanted it to vibrate in his hands. It was just... in his experience, TJ only had two modes—respond immediately, or never respond.

What if he’d realized that Cyrus was doing? Fuck—why had he listened to his friends?

“Dude, chill, it’s been like thirty seconds,” Gus said, dismissively.

“He’s probably freaking out,” Jonah shrugged not even turning away from the wall. “I wouldn’t worry—the second you tell him you’re ready, he’ll respond.”

“Yeah, but what if—“

“No 'buts'!” Gus shouted, tossing a clean paintbrush to his clearly-freaking friend. “Stand your ground. If he can’t wait an hour to talk, he’s not worth shit anyway.”

“Well that seems like an oversimplification, I mean what if he, like... needs me.”

“Needs you?" Gus let out a skeptical chuckle. “Okay, seriously, Cy, does this guys just completely own your balls, or do you get them back every other weekend.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Cyrus held on to his offended glare even as Gus began to crack up. “I’m new to this shit, alright? I don’t even know if I want to yell at him or ask him out!”

“Wait, you do want to go out with him. Right?” Jonah asked, brow slightly furrowed.

“Yes!” Cyrus threw his hands up in exasperation, half stressed, half surprised by his own decision. “But, also... I don’t know, man. What if he...” he paused glancing down at his still dark phone screen. “What if he ditches me again?”

The time he’d spent with TJ was the most... connected he’d felt to another person in a long time. But what if TJ hadn’t felt the same? What if anything they started was destined to be just as short lived and disastrous as the first time. Would it hurt as much to fail twice? Would it hurt more?

Would he be able to handle that?

“Dude.” Jonah’s hand was on his shoulder—when did that happen?—giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s not gonna happen.”

Right. Right, he needed to be confident—he needed to be the boss. This was going to go well.

Cyrus took a deep breath and nodded.

“And if it does, I will literally kill him.”

“I’ve got it!” Marty’s voice suddenly interrupted the soft smile being shared by Jonah and Cyrus. All three of then turned to see the older teen staring at the wall with a big smile on his face. “Let’s do a portrait of Buffy!”

“Jesus Christ.” Cyrus felt himself deflate as Jonah chucked another brush at Marty’s head.

“Can you follow a conversation for, like, two minutes? Please? Or is that too difficult for you?” Gus shook his head, wandering over to the wall, readying himself to explain why Marty’s idea was a bad one.

“What? What did I—“

“Seriously man, I’m starting to worry about your—“

And that’s when Cyrus’s phone vibrated.

_TJ: I’m on my way there_

“Guys...”

“I’m telling you, we’ve got like five shades of brown that are perfect for her hair, we can—“

“Guys, he’s coming!”

“Good for him?” Marty shot a confused look at Cyrus over Gus’s shoulder before turning back to further debate his mural idea.

“Guys, he’s coming... here.”

“What?” Gus spun around, shushing Marty before the other teen could say anything else.

“Wait, when?” Jonah asked, sounding almost as anxious as Cyrus felt.

“Now! Like, right now!”

“Cool, then he can help us—“

“We have to go.” Jonah interrupted, turning to give Marty a glare when the older teen started to complain.

“Yes—wait! No—wait, yes, go!” His chest was a mixture of conflicting emotions. Dread. Joy. Apprehension and excitement. He wasn’t sure what to feel, or what to say, all he knew was that his stomach was fluttering in that overwhelmingly pleasant way for the first time in weeks. Even if he couldn’t get the words out—he needed his friends to disappear before TJ showed up or there was a good chance he might just die in the spot.

He didn’t want any witnesses to see whatever was about to happen.

What the fuck was about to happen?

“Go—fuck, yeah, let’s go!” In an instant, Gus was grabbing his and Marty’s bags, shoving the pack into a still-confused Marty’s hands as he began to run out the door.

“C’mon, jackass!” Jonah grabbed Marty’s arm tugging the larger teen behind him.

“C’mon, go, go!”

“But the mural! I—fine! Jesus...”

Jonah let out a whoop and a laugh as they ran toward the foyer, giving Cyrus one last look before letting the door close between them. And just like that, Cyrus was alone—the sudden silence only creating an echo chamber for his conflicting emotions inside his own head. Even the slamming of the door seemed to be dampened by the draped protective cloths on every surface. he tried to calm himself, tried to get his brain to shut up, but all he had to do was look at the hideous mural, and the thought started all over again.

They were supposed to paint it together. Maybe they still would?

Cyrus checked his phone again. No new messages, just TJ’s incredulous forward—and honestly, quite presumptuous—response. It made Cyrus want to smile and scowl in equal measures. How was this the same person who was too nervous to text first? How did he jump from leaving secret notes to 'I will come to you no matter the obstacle?'

Okay, maybe Cyrus was getting a bit ahead of himself.

He had no idea what was about to happen.

All he knew was that he wouldn’t be alone for much longer.

_**Friday, 6:34 PM** _

The sound of the door carefully creaking open came a lot faster than Cyrus had expected. And a lot faster than he was prepared for.

He barely had enough time to shove his phone in his pocket and pretend that he’d been staring at the mural before he heard the muffled sound of a step. Then another. Then a soft clearing of a throat.

Fuck.

He definitely wasn’t ready for this.

“So... what are we thinking?” TJ asked, and Cyrus was pretty sure he was talking about the wall.

He wanted to throw himself at TJ. Even just the short, over the shoulder glance he allowed himself was enough to set the butterflies whirlwind-ing in his stomach.

He looked so fucking good. Somehow, in a ratty hoodie, paint-covered jeans, and mussed up hair, TJ Kippen looked like a dream come true.

“I haven’t got that far yet,” Cyrus replied, trying to convince himself that he was talking about the wall as well.

He wanted to shove TJ away. He wanted to ask what the fuck had happened—how had ‘I told her about us,’ turned into ‘i need space,’ turned into hooking up with Kira? The whirlwind in his gut was off-balance, just a little, and he wanted answers.

Why had TJ stopped smiling at him?

“You know,” TJ kicked at one of the opened cans at his feet, “we could, like... Jackson Pollack this thing.”

“And what, exactly would that mean?” Cyrus asked. Art and art history really were his weakness. He knew the name and pretty much... nothing else about the guy.

He wanted to feel TJ’s lips on his neck.

He wanted to shove TJ out the door.

He refused to let either of those desires play out on his face, holding a stoic grimace as best he could.

“Like...” the older teen reached down, grabbing one of the loose paint brushes and dipping it into the can of blue paint. Then, with a quick, gut-churning smile tossed over his shoulder, TJ flicked the brush a few feet from the wall, sending a line of dribbling paint onto the surface. “Like that, but everywhere and multi-colored.”

“So we’re taking the easy route?”

“Try it yourself, then.” Cyrus could hear the laughter in TJ’s voice, and it infuriated him that the older teen could seem so unaffected. Wasn't he supposed to be nervous? Antsy? Desperately begging for forgiveness?

Cyrus didn’t give a shit about the mural.

But then he caught TJ’s eye, just for a second, and—it was just a flash—he saw fear. The same type of fear that TJ had been poured from his eyes when he first came to apologize for ditching Cyrus at the mural. The same fear that Cyrus had almost forgotten ever seeing, because TJ was so incredibly good at hiding it when he wanted to. And then it was gone, and TJ was giving him a half-smile and holding out a fresh paintbrush.

Was it all just a show?

“Okay, so you just...” Cyrus flicked the line of orange perpendicular to TJ’s, taking a second to watch the thick globs of paint begin to drip down towards the floor.

Buffy was going to hate this, but he couldn't deny that it was sort of fun.

“No, no, sorry,” TJ reached out to grab the brush from Cyrus’s hand, and that barest of touches where their fingers grazed was almost enough to send Cyrus stumbling back. “You did it all wrong.”

“How the hell do you figure that?”

He wasn’t sure why they were talking about the mural. He didn’t give a shit about the mural, and the way TJ kept glancing in his direction, it was perfectly clear that the older teen cared even less. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many fears he needed TJ to allay.

But he couldn’t put any of them to words. Not then, not when it felt so unbelievably natural to be talking to the other boy like this.

“Well, just look at it. It’s completely off—seriously,” TJ pointed to where their two drippy lines intersected, a resolutely stern look on his face. “Sorry, Underdog, but you failed.”

Underdog.

Fuck. There was no way TJ didn’t know what he was doing by using that nickname. All Cyrus could think of was the swings, in rain, in darkness. The swings, and the way they had come together that night—with so much force, the memory still left him breathless.

“How can you possibly fail at this?” Cyrus asked, fighting down the crack in his voice and the blush he could feel pushing onto his cheeks. “A two-year-old could do it. You’d have to be a... a complete moron to ‘fail.’”

“You said it, not me.”

The astonished laugh slipped passed his lips for just a second before he could quash it down. Even if it almost got a full-faced smile out of TJ, he wasn’t ready to admit—to TJ or himself—how happy just being in the same room was making him. He wasn't ready to open up that much.

But just for a second, TJ looked impatient.

“It’s nice to see you smile,” his words came out soft, almost covered by the rustling steps as he flicked another few lines of yellow paint on the wall. “You look good when you smile. I...” he paused, glancing back as if to make sure Cyrus wasn’t about to stop him. “I missed it.”

And finally they weren’t talking about the mural anymore—if they ever truly were.

Instead of saying what he was thinking—it sounded a bit mean even to his own mind—Cyrus cleared his throat and tossed a splatter of purple right at eye level.

“I saw you and Kira.” A line of red flicked out from Cyrus’s brush to span through blue and yellow. “You looked like you were in a pretty good place. I’m glad you two are... I’m happy for you.”

It was a lie. Maybe the biggest one he’d ever told.

“No.” TJ locked eyes with Cyrus, as if he not only knew that Cyrus was lying, but knew everything the younger boy was hiding behind his dishonesty. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” He hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like a challenge, but once the words were out there he realized that it was exactly what he wanted it to be. He wanted to challenge TJ, to show the older teen that he wasn't just going to let himself be dragged along anymore. He wanted to push back.

He wanted TJ to prove him wrong.

“Because that doesn’t matter. Kira? None of it matters.”

“That seems really easy for you to say,” Cyrus scoffed, wanting to drop eye contact but finding himself unable to look away.

“Yeah, well I’ve been fucking it up for a while, haven’t I?”

Cyrus shook his head, but it was a halting, rough movement. He had never wanted so badly to be wrong about... everything.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He had to keep his voice quiet. He couldn't risk sounding hopeful. That would just be... too much.

“You,” TJ took a step forward, hesitating a few feet away from Cyrus. He looked uncertain. He looked... like he was readying himself to be rejected. And yet, somehow, there was also confidence. Almost too much confidence. “You are what matters. Cyrus, ever since I first saw you, you’re the only thing that's mattered.”

It sounded so amazing. So perfect. Cyrus wanted desperately to believe it—he could feel something his chest starting to weaken under the stare TJ was giving him. It sounded like the older teen had made his choice.

He felt himself start to smile.

But it was too much. Too perfect. He had to look away, to toss another cap of paint at the wall and pretend that he gave a shit about what he was doing. Because, really—who in the world would choose him?

He sensed TJ relaxing behind him, he could feel the tension ebbing away from the room as heard the older teen open up another can of paint. But he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

TJ loved being dramatic—Cyrus had to remind himself of that as he pretended to focus on the ever more colorful wall. TJ was dramatic, but did that make what he'd said any more or less real? Because that was a lot to take in. And it contradicted what TJ had done—ditching him for his ex—so Cyrus felt it was understandable that it was difficult to believe.

But look in his eye as he’s said it...

It reminded Cyrus of the Polaris video. The intensity in his eyes. The sincerity in his voice. It was the face of someone who knew that what they had to offer was imperfect, but still felt it was necessary to offer it anyway.

He could practically feel TJ begging to be trusted, even as the older teen turned back to the wall. Even if he knew didn’t deserve it.

But was that enough?

Considering how long it had taken to put up a layer of primer, Cyrus was surprised at how quickly the wall turned into a kaleidoscope of colors. His colors, TJ’s, he could no longer keep track of who had splattered and flicked and tossed each splash of color onto its resting place. As they ‘painted’—it felt wrong to call it that, but Cyrus had no other words for the chaos unfolding itself in front of him—as the mural came together he could feel the mood lightening.

The more he thought about TJ's words, the more that comfortable warmth grew in his chest.

With each color added, he could feel the ball of nerves unwinding inside him, feel his shoulders relaxing and face getting less stern. He could feel it from TJ, too. The older teen was unfolding himself to reach the higher parts of the wall, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes with the hint of a smile on his lips. And maybe it was because Cyrus was still there, still next to him, but the fear in his eyes had disappeared, too.

With every smile, every gentle comment, every easy smile, it was becoming more and more clear that TJ actually believed every word he had said. _You're the only thing that's mattered._

And that didn’t fix everything—not even close—but it fixed some things.

It fixed enough for Cyrus to stop bristling just because TJ stepped within his personal bubble. It fixed enough for Cyrus to offer a begrudging smile when the older teen almost tripped over a can of paint. It fixed enough for Cyrus to feel like maybe, just maybe, it was possible that TJ might have chosen him.

“I think Buffy’s gonna hate it,” after finishing off the can of orange paint, Cyrus took a step back to examine their work. It wasn't exactly easy to judge—really, it looked like a bunch of dripping lines and splattered colors. But there was more. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about the way the chaos was mixing with itself that drew him in. There was something about the depth and layers of color.

There was something about the fact that it was his. And TJ's. And theirs.

“Let her,” TJ stepped back to join him, a grin on his face, a green paintbrush in one hand, and only about a foot of space between them. Too much and not enough, all at the same time. “The best artists are always misunderstood in their time.”

“Do the best artists often get murdered for wasting time and resources?”

“Only the best of the best.”

Cyrus shook his head, struggling to hold back his smile as TJ chuckled beside him.

“I think you may be putting too much—“

The foreign sensation of paint covered bristles being shoved against his nose shocked Cyrus into silence. Shocked him into blinking heavily, staring at TJ as the older teen held the green brush up in the air with a full-face, mind-bending smile on his lips.

And that’s around the time Cyrus’s resolve, the control he’d been exerting to keep himself safe, sane, and unaffected by TJ, just crumbled into dust.

His response was immediate, scoring a line of orange across TJ’s chin and shoulder and letting out a peal of laughter. And then TJ was dual wielding, green and red, poking Cyrus in the arms and neck and letting out glorious shouts and shrieks and giggles the entire time. He wasn’t sure who was the first to dip their whole hands in the paint—it was him—but soon the brushes were forgotten on the paint covered cloths. It was hand-to-hand combat in the most glorious, most colorful way. Every poke, grasp, and tickle scored more color chaos. Every touch sent Cyrus's heart into his throat, set his voice crackling with glee.

Some paint still made its way to the wall, but only when one of them missed their main target. Cyrus’s shirt, TJ’s jacket, their arms and faces—those became the new canvases. Not-so-blank slates, open for each of them to encode with joy and frustration and so much color.

Cyrus let himself laugh, let himself relish in the overwhelming energy of the moment. In its idiocy and its joy. He let himself reach out and grab TJ by the arms, the chest, the neck; let himself leave colorful evidence of his presence with every touch.

He let himself because he wanted to. He wanted to touch, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to feel. He wanted and wanted and wanted. And as TJ cackled and eagerly returned the favor, he saw no reason to deny himself. It felt good. It felt fun. It felt right.

So when TJ lunged forward and grabbed both his shoulders, pausing to stare with heaving breath and a huge gash of green dripping down his forehead, Cyrus could tell that he wanted more. They both did. He could feel the desire surge inside his chest, building into something he had no ability to deny. He didn't even try to stop himself. He let himself lean forward, and pushed up on his toes to get those last few inches of height. He let TJ meet him halfway.

Let himself sink into the kiss.

It should have been disgusting. They were covered in paint, every move spreading it around even more, but he didn’t care. He didn't care about anything but the feeling of TJ’s lips on his. The feeling of TJ’s chaos covered hands threading through his hair. Even when the older teen spun them around and pressed Cyrus against the wall, smearing the freshly painted colors with a shirt that was quickly tugged over Cyrus’s head, he only pulled the taller teen closer. Wrapped a leg behind TJ's knee. Instead of thinking about the rainbow of colors being smeared against his skin, Cyrus focused on the shivers running down his spine, busied himself with yanking off the taller teen's jacket and shirt while TJ pressed himself even deeper into their kiss.

Their kiss. Theirs. It felt like being whole again, like something he'd been missing had been returned.

The fire he felt in his belly was new, but oh so familiar, so incredibly pleasant. Cyrus couldn’t fight off the smile and giggles that bubbled out of his throat as TJ attached himself to his neck. The contours of TJ’s back, traced and painted by his fingers, were just as strong as they had been that lazy Saturday morning in his bed. The thrill, the joy, the adrenaline running through his veins was no weaker than when they had come together under the pouring rain.

Being covered in paint didn’t dampen any of what he was feeling. Being under fluorescents in an empty school didn’t make it feel any less right. Being separated for weeks didn’t lessen how full his heart felt when the came back together.

It was the same. It was better. It was irreplicable, and he never wanted it to stop.

It was his. It was TJ's. It was theirs.

It was theirs.

It was theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! As I said on my tumblr, I had to take some time away from writing to study and do other life-related things. But I'm back! And we're very close to the end! Hopefully, this chapter brought a bit of a smile to your face after a few weeks of sadness. I took a bit of a different tactic while writing this chapter, and it gave me a chance to be a bit more original, so I really hope you liked it. I think it also led to me writing a lot more than usual (which, I know, is saying a lot) so we shall see.
> 
> Only three more chapters left! Hope you enjoyed this spot of happiness!


	8. Headrush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?

_**Saturday, 11:07 AM** _

_Please say it wasn’t a dream._

As long as he kept his eyes closed, Cyrus could keep replaying the sequence of the previous night in his mind. The swirling, mixing, clashing colors of paint covering every inch of skin. The half-lidded eyes, the messy and paint-spiked hair, the smiles that alternated between goofy and lustful and awestruck. The impatience, and the laughter, and the tension—he hadn’t let a single second slip from his memory this time around.

As long as he didn't move, he could feel the echoes of everything they had done to each other. His neck tingled with every beat of his heart, an embarrassing yet incredibly hot reminder of how eagerly TJ had latched onto his pulse. His shoulder still felt tight from the way they’d carelessly tumbled onto the common-room futon. His ears still hummed with whispered compliments and risqué suggestions that he would never repeat to another soul—no matter how much he’d had to drink. His skin still shivered from the steaming water of the shower, dripping off of them in reds and blues and jumbled browns as they both tried to get clean without actually taking their hands off each other.

As long as he stayed where he was, he could convince himself that it had been real. 

So Cyrus fought off wakefulness for as long as his body, as long as his brain would allow. He stayed anchored in his memory, ignoring his lurking anxiety until the sunlight began to burn his eyelids through the living room curtains. Until his ears began to strain for that other source of breathing, the one that should have been right next to his head. Until the morning chill made it obvious that the second source of body heat that had wrapped around him and lulled him to sleep was no longer beside him.

He didn't need to open his eyes to know that TJ was gone, but that didn't make the pit that grew in his stomach at the sight of the empty bed any less heavy. His eyes immediately began to search the rumpled sheets—looking for a note, or piece of clothing, or anything to disprove the anxiety beginning to claw at his chest—but there was nothing there. No lightly snoring blond, no sleepy smile. His ears began to pick up the muffled sounds of his roommates clanking around their kitchen, but the thought of facing Amber or Reed or Lester or all three of them at once was paralyzing.

Because TJ wasn't there. And this time he hadn't even left a note.

At least with his eyes open—though still filled with sleep—he could confirm for certain that it hadn't been a dream. Traces of paint still colored his fingers and arm and chest and shoulder and leg and... it was faded, and mostly scrubbed away, but there was no denying the chaos still evident on his skin. Just as evident were the bruises, the bite marks, the amazing ache he felt stretching almost every muscle. There was no denying the embarrassingly pleasant memories that matched each color, each shiver, each mark. 

Last night had happened. The confession—was it a confession? The paint fight. The kiss.

So why was TJ gone? Why was he gone again? Without a note. Without even a text—the only unread messages he had were from Jonah and his dad, neither of which seemed like appealing options at the moment—he had just... left.

Had he, what, achieved his goal? Gotten everything he wanted from Cyrus and ditched? All the old worries came rushing back, digging a pit into the joy that had filled his chest the previous night. Had TJ woken up with regrets? Seen the sleeping Cyrus and decided once and for all that the skinny boy with a beauty mark and bushy eyebrows was not the one he wanted to be with? Had Kira called him back to her with a siren's promise of freedom?

Had TJ just decided he was—

The voices in the kitchen grew incredibly loud as the shattering of glass reached Cyrus's ears. No longer muffled, he could hear Reed's annoyed sarcasm, Amber's worried warning to stay still, and...

That apologizing voice didn't belong to Lester.

Holy shit.

He didn't let himself run, though every second spent wrapping a sweatshirt around his shoulders and slowly padding to the kitchen felt like an eternity. He could feel his heart struggling to jump out of his chest with every careful step—but he didn't let himself run, because he didn't want to find out that he was wrong. He didn’t want to find out that Lester had just come down with a head cold, and that the person muttering apologies wasn’t actually...

When he rounded the corner, TJ’s apologetic smile was the first thing he saw. Like magic, he felt his heart calm immediately. The other teen was looking toward the ground, a spatula held high in one hand and apologies still tumbling from his still-swollen lips. He was wearing only an unzipped hoodie and a pair of Cyrus's ill-fitting pajama bottoms, and Cyrus wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen a more alluring outfit. 

TJ hadn’t left. He was still there—he hadn’t slipped out in the night filled with regret, or disappeared gleefully after winning some twisted game. He was standing in Cyrus’s kitchen, chatting with his roommates like it was the most normal thing in the world. It made his heart thrum in his chest. And yet...

He ignored the instinct to run to the still-apologizing teen's side—Reed was already trying to catch his eye with a smug smile, and even half-asleep and caffeine-deprived, Cyrus knew better than to give his roommate that kind of emotional ammo. Also, the floor was clearly still littered with shards of glass, which Amber was dutifully trying to push into a dustpan. Cyrus had no desire to start his morning with a laceration, so he hovered in the door, caught between joy and the part of his brain that wouldn't stop whispering, _'but...'_

TJ, apparently, had no such qualms. As soon as he glanced up from the floor and locked eyes with Cyrus, the older teen was walking across the kitchen with a wide, eye-crinkling smile on his face—completely ignoring Amber's shout of 'don't fucking move, there's still glass!' as he wrapped his free hand around Cyrus's waist and pressed into him with a much-too-quick kiss. The morning’s anxiety faded faster as soft lips and morning breath invaded Cyrus’s mind and set his stomach to a more pleasant fluttering.

"Morning," and the voice was somehow even more smiley than TJ's face. "I'm making breakfast."

It seemed too good to be true.

Was it too good to be true?

Cyrus returned the smile as best he could, wishing he could forget the morning’s cloud of dark questions. Yes, TJ was there, but for how long? When would he get bored? When would he stop smiling like that?

"He's certainly making something," Reed muttered over a steaming cup of coffee as he leaned against the sink. Cyrus shook his head, doing his best to clear out the looming thoughts trying to drape themselves over his memories. Past TJ's shoulder, he could see what looked like a pan of very cooked eggs—but also something... green?—sizzling on the stove.

"So... what's that?" Cyrus asked, voice cracked and fond and tight all at the same time as he tried to get a better look at the—why was it gray?—mush steaming away in the pan.

"An unidentified frying object," Amber answered as she scanned the floor for any rogue shards of glass. "Keep your expectations low, though. Apparently, we're missing some vital ingredients.”

"It's just a shame you didn't have any macadamia nuts," TJ hummed and he took a few careful steps back to his... creation.

"For the frozen pea and cinnamon omelet?" Reed mused, sending an incredulous glance over at Cyrus. "Don't you think you have enough flavors in there, person-who-doesn't-live-here?"

"Don't be ridiculous," TJ scoffed, pushing at the—Cyrus really hoped Reed had been kidding about the ingredient list—clearly overcooked omelet. "For the muffins."

"Right... How could we be so unprepared for the classic 'blueberry and macadamia nut' muffin?" Amber asked as she pushed herself up from the floor. "Reed, clearly we need to re-evaluate our shopping list."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it," TJ grinned, turning around as he—finally—took the eggs off the heat. "It's an old family recipe—pretty much like sex in your mouth."

"Mm!" Reed nodded, swallowing a large mouthful of coffee with a smile. "Sound like just what I need after a, uh... late night."

"Speaking of," TJ looked completely unbothered as he—much to Cyrus's chagrin—started shoveling the grainy mixture onto two plates laid out on the counter, "I hope we weren't too, uh, loud. Last night."

And, oh god, maybe Cyrus could just die of embarrassment right where he stood. At least then he wouldn't have to try to eat... that.

"Uh... nope, I didn't hear anything," Amber glanced over at Reed as she emptied the dustbin into the trash. "Did you hear anything, Reed?"

"Oh, I, um, no—"

"Well, I heard you two fucking." Lester, looking half-asleep in a robe and slippers, made his entrance known as he shuffled directly past a mortified Cyrus and wide-eyed Reed to pour himself a cup of coffee. "And it kept me up all night, so—Amber, I'm gonna need you to go ahead and give your room back to Cyrus since you have no sex life. Thanks."

"Uh..." Amber took a second to shake her head before turning to face her already-retreating roommate. "Excuse you, I—"

"Oh no! Amber, is that what's happened to the once-and-mighty queen? Whithering to nothing in want of a good lay?" Reed pushed himself away from the sink to follow after Amber and Lester with a grin. "If only I could, I'd take you myself and—"

"I swear if you finish that sentence, I will rip it off myself—Lester!" Face hardened with a glare, Amber stomped out of the kitchen after the unimpressed-looking brunet. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

Cyrus just wanted to crawl into a hole and die, thanks. 

"Your roommates are pretty cool," TJ glanced over his shoulder with a grin before checking on whatever he had baking in the oven. "Must be fun living here."

"No my roommates are—holy shit." Cyrus just barely held off the desire to run and shove his head under a pillow for the rest of the day—how could TJ seem so unbothered? Amused, even? "I'd apologize, but this is... distressingly normal for them."

"Yeah?" TJ chuckled, donning an oven mitt and pulling out a tray of what were clearly supposed to be muffins. "Maybe I should stay over here more often."

It was a joke—it was clearly, what with TJ's knowing smile, just supposed to be a joke—so why did it make something in Cyrus's stomach lurch uncomfortably? Why did it make the chorus of questions redouble their chanting in the back of his head? 

Did TJ really want to stay with him now? Would he actually be around long enough to spend another night at the apartment? Would he go back to Kira before they even had a chance?

"I mean, unless... hey, is everything okay?"

Cyrus suddenly became aware of just how grim his face must have looked—if it was even half as confused and lost as he felt, it was probably terrifying to look at. So he forced a small smile and tried not to focus on the sudden worry flooding TJ's features. 

TJ set down the fully made plates—and now his smile was gone, and fuck, Cyrus was screwing things up again—before leaning back against the counter. "Is something up?"

Of course, Cyrus should have known better than to think that he could hide behind a forced smile and a shrug. He did, after all, suck at lying on the best of days. He was getting the feeling that might go double for anything to do with TJ. 

TJ, who was still looking at him with an almost uncomfortable amount of concern. Waiting for an answer.

"I thought you'd left. When I woke up this morning, I..."

They hadn't really talked, the previous night. There wasn't exactly time, what with all the making out. But waking up alone like that, it made it incredibly clear to Cyrus just how badly he needed them to have a conversation. Maybe that was why he actually told the truth—this was a chance to start their... whatever this was going to be on the right foot. Hopefully. Honestly.

"Oh. I, uh..." TJ glanced down, looking a little sheepish as Cyrus fixed him with a stare. "Nope. Still here."

"No, I mean..." Cyrus sighed, taking a half-step back to lean against the tiny kitchen table. "I thought you left like last time. I thought maybe you... went back to Kira again."

"Why would I do that?" TJ shook his head. "I'm not with Kira anymore, I—"

"Stop." The apartment kitchen wasn't very big. Even though they were on opposite sides of the room, there was only about six feet of space between the two of them. Cyrus could see the traces of paint sticking up around the back of TJ's neck and on his unfairly well-defined abs. It would be so easy to close the space and let TJ's touch soothe the worries ricocheting around his head. But Cyrus knew that would only be a temporary fix, only lasting as long as the touch that brought it. If he wanted to stop the uncomfortable churning in his chest, he needed to hear TJ's account of what happened. And he needed to hear it now.

"Sorry, I..."

"No, I just... last time you told me something like that, I saw you with your tongue down her throat at a party three days later."

Cyrus paused as he heard TJ take in a deep breath, watched the older teen square his shoulders and slowly push himself away from the counter.

"I broke up with Kira more than a week ago," TJ's voice was soft as he slowly stepped over to stand directly in front of Cyrus. "Way before you texted me yesterday."

"Really?" Cyrus let himself sound as hopeful as felt. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he leaned his head back to meet TJ's eyes and he watched as the older teen nodded. "But, Iris's party..."

"Yeah, I..." TJ sighed again, bringing his hands up to rest on the back of Cyrus's neck, thumbs rubbing soothingly under the shorter teen's ears. "I'm sorry you saw that. I didn't—Kira, she knows me like the back of her hand. And she's ruthless. She knew how to make me think that I needed to get back together with her. And...” another deep breath, “you looked like you weren't ready."

Cyrus leaned in TJ's touch, taking in the sad smile the older teen was giving him as they held each other's stare. He could see TJ's eyes searching his, looking for something. Maybe for forgiveness. And he did want to believe TJ's words.

But still.

"I don't know," TJ whispered, and suddenly Cyrus was aware of the slight swaying as TJ shifted his weight from one foot to another. The third time through, it was almost familiar—this was TJ nervously apologizing. Just like after he'd approached after ditching Cyrus at the mural, and when they'd first started talking in the common room. This was TJ assuming he was about to be rejected—it was so clear in the way he kept looking off to the side and chewing at his lip. Cyrus wasn't sure how he'd missed this part of the other boy for so long. "I guess I got scared."

"Scared of what?" Cyrus's voice was almost as soft as TJ's. His heart thrummed as the older teen shook his head and finally met his eyes with yet another sad smile.

"I... I guess I was scared that you didn't want the same thing I did," TJ's fingers began to tangle into the hair at the back of his neck. "I was scared you didn't want something... serious."

For a second, Cyrus was struck silent.

"No," Cyrus's eyes grew wide, as he was struck with the incredibly urgent need to correct TJ's misconception. "I want something serious. I... I want something very, very serious."

"Yeah?" TJ's smile started to spread up to his eyes as he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together, and Cyrus was unable to hold off the full-body shiver that coursed down his spine.

"Yeah."

"Good," he let his head lean a little farther back, until he could see TJ's eyes and his smiling lips at the same time. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Another shiver ran down Cyrus's spine. That was maybe the single best sequence of words he'd ever heard.

"Yeah?" He couldn't help pushing himself up—just a little bit—so that TJ's lips were hovering just a fraction of an inch above his own. He couldn't help the smile tugging at the edge of his mouth as he felt TJ's breath ghosting across his face.

"Yeah."

He couldn't stop himself from cutting TJ's laugh short, pulling at the drawstrings of his hoodie until their lips were pressed together. But TJ didn't seem to mind. And after a second of laughing into Cyrus's mouth, he was pulling the younger teen even closer, deepening the kiss as he gripped the back of Cyrus's neck. If Cyrus had thought that all their kisses of the past were good, and he very much did, then this one—the kiss that felt like the start of something new, the one where they finally had everything laid out in the open—was so amazing that he thought he might literally be floating.

And it may have helped that, at least for the moment, it also seemed to make TJ forget all about the 'breakfast' sitting behind him.

**_Monday, 7:52 AM_ **

There was absolutely no way that Cyrus could be expected to stand in the common room, with TJ hovering over his shoulder, looking at their new mural, and not be thinking about what they had done to each other Friday evening. It just wasn't possible. It just wasn't fucking possible. Especially since Buffy, Libby, and Andi were also in the room, and he just knew that the mural wasn't the only thing they were judging.

He needed to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"I know it's not exactly what you were expecting." Cyrus finally turned around to face the girls, almost bumping into TJ—who was standing even closer than he had realized.

"We got some last-minute... inspiration," TJ added, and even if he couldn't see the older teen's face, Cyrus could hear the idiotic grin in his voice. He had spent all weekend letting himself get accustomed to that voice, letting everything from the deep reverberations of mid-makeout moans to the high pitched titters of innocent laughter embed themselves into his memory. They had taken full advantage of the fact that neither of them had authority figures looking to monitor them. And while Reed had made at least two separate comments about them needing to 'come up for air eventually,' Cyrus felt absolutely no shame about letting himself indulge in TJ Kippen.

Buffy's judgemental stare, on the other hand, may have had a bit of a shaming effect.

"It's supposed to be—"

"I love it!" Andi jumped up from the her chair, quickly running to inspect the wall from just a few inches away. "This is so cool, guys, I didn't know you had it in you!"

"I think it's bad-ass," Libby signed before going up to join Andi at the foot of the mural.

In the moments when he could focus on the mural without being overwhelmed by memories of being pressed up against still-wet paint by TJ's lips, Cyrus was quite pleased to find that he agreed with the girls wholeheartedly. He and TJ hadn't exactly waited around for the paint to dry—and to be honest, he'd stopped paying attention to what was on the wall the second TJ had painted his nose—but the final product was...

It was _theirs._

He couldn't say what exactly it was, but the way the colors came together—splattered and splashed and smeared on the bottom where TJ had pressed him into the wet paint—felt like he was staring at two forces coming together. It was like a starlit night, or a mossy pool, but the sky and water were made of blues and purples and greens—not quite blended, not quite smooth, but mottled across the expanse of the wall in a way that felt chaotic and natural. Covering, but not entirely, the still nearly visible colors of the diversity mural, letting it's primer-covered hues poke out around the top edge of the expanse. It looked raw, it looked uncontrolled, with stars or branches or gashes of reds and yellows and oranges and browns.

Maybe it was just because of what had happened during its creation, but it looked joyous—which was not the kind of word Cyrus ever thought he would associate with a piece of art. And yes, at least in his head, he was proudly referring to it as 'art.'

"Yeah, it's not bad, but what the hell, guys," Buffy finally stood, approaching the four of them slowly as she looked at the drop tarps, the futon, almost everywhere but at the wall. "You got paint literally everywhere—even on the ceiling!"

"Oh, yeah, uh..." Cyrus winced, glancing up to see a sizable splatter red and green paint on some of the drop-ceiling near the top of the wall. "We'll try to clean that up."

"Yeah," Buffy glanced up at Cyrus as she kicked at the paint-covered cloth at their feet. "You absolutely will. Seriously, did you guys blow something up in here, or—"

"Wait," Andi took a half step forward, squinting her eyes at two blue circular imprints at just about waist height. "Is that... a butt?"

"Uh... maybe?" Suddenly TJ was leaning over Cyrus's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wrapping his arms around his waist. Even as he let himself lean into the embrace, Cyrus couldn't fight off the blush pushing itself onto his cheeks. Of course. Of course, his indiscretion would be immortalized with something as crude as an imprint of his rear in the mural. And of course, TJ felt absolutely no shame it. "Sorry?"

"What—Cyrus! What the fuck did I say!" Buffy suddenly rounded on the two of them, and, even as terrifying as the glare she was leveling at them was, TJ's laugh was just way too infectious. 

"Technically, you said no dicks," Cyrus countered, struggling to hold back a giggle as TJ squeezed his waist. "I promise you there is absolutely zero dicks on this wall."

He silently prayed that he was telling the truth.

Especially when Buffy's glare grew even sharper.

"If Metcalf says anything about that, it's all on you." Somehow even the threatening poke of her finger, while painful, wasn't as scary while TJ was holding him like that.

"Oh, chill, Buff," Andi appeared over the shoulder of the still angry basketball captain with a dreamy smile on her face. "Honestly, immortalizing your gay romance into a mural right under the nose of a conservative school administration? That's fucking relationship goals, right there! You should be happy for them!"

"Yeah, Driscoll," TJ teased in a tone that was surprisingly, affectionately familiar. "You should be happy for us."

"Oh, wow," Cyrus said as Buffy's eyes blinked in astonishment. With a quick twist, he extracted himself from TJ's grasp so that he was no longer in the direct line of fire. It had been nice knowing TJ, but...

"I am happy for you, you ass," Buffy rolled her eyes, shifting her weight as her shoulders suddenly relaxed. "Just making sure you know I'll hold your ass responsible for this, and whatever else Goodman fucks up in the future."

"Hey!"

"Wait, how well do you two know each other?" Andi asked the question before Cyrus's could figure out how to word it. 

"Whatever," Buffy grinned, reaching out to lightly punch at TJ's shoulder. "We both worked for Camp Hoops in the summer. I'm serious, though, I will hold you responsible if we get shit about any of this."

"Yeah, yeah," TJ waved away Buffy's aggressively pointing finger and turned to Cyrus, just as the younger boy realized that he was staring in awe. TJ knew Buffy—a mystery he didn't really care about or know existed until right after it had been solved—and he still wasn't intimidated by her? He couldn't decide if that was stupidity or bravery, but for some reason, he found it really, incredibly attractive.

He leaned into the touch as TJ ruffled his hair.

"Okay, but did you have to get paint on the futon's sheets?"

As another round of half-apologies and elbow-nudging began between Andi, Buffy, and TJ, Cyrus felt his phone go off in his pocket. Taking a moment to step back from the impending shouting, Cyrus moved off to the side of the room, offering the excuse of his phone when TJ gave him a questioning glance.

It was a text from his dad. Another one, which—two messages in three days? Was the world ending? Was someone dying? Surely his dad hadn't suddenly started... caring.

He could stare at his screen, coming up with possible world-altering explanations all day, but it made more sense to just open the messages than to let himself wonder what alien had come down and stolen his dad's phone.

_Received Saturday, 8:15 AM_

_Dad: Your mom has asked that we all go to Shabbat next week. I think it's a good idea, I'm sure you will too if you think about it. I hope you'll be available._

And then the message that had just come in.

_Dad: I would really appreciate if you came to Shabbat, Cyrus. I think it would be good for the whole family. Just say yes, and I'll give you an extra $100 for this month._

The bout of laughter that came from the other side of the room did nothing to ease the furious twisting in his gut. Cyrus couldn't rip his eyes away from the screen of his phone. Of course. Of course, his dad wasn't just... reaching out—he hadn't actually been dumb enough to think that might have been the case. But even for someone as detached and uncaring as his Norman Goodman, these texts took the cake. He wasn't sure what was more upsetting—the fact that his father, who knew full well what his mother had done and probably even more, was trying to get them to have a family get together at his mother's bidding; or the fact that he thought that $100 would be enough of an incentive to get him to go through with it.

How were these the parents he’d been stuck with? Was that a fixed point in the life of all Cyrus Goodmans, or was there a Cyrus in the multiverse whose parents weren't so incredibly fucked up. Who stayed together, or maybe split up amicably, but who actually cared for his wellbeing—instead of abandoning him for a new family, or being unable and uwilling to give up control. He knew it wasn't useful to think about that—the what-ifs could quickly become too much—but seriously. Was it too much to ask for parents that didn't think of him as a burden, or a puppet? An annoying reminder of the past, or the key to holding onto it? Was that too much to want?

Well, fuck them. And fuck his Dad especially—his mother at least had the excuse of being crazy. What was his Dad's excuse? 

Cyrus let himself break out of his frustration for a moment as he realized he was staring. At his friends, at TJ, who glanced over and caught his eye. He let himself take in TJ's smile and the questioning eyes directed his way before shaking his head. He didn’t want to stress about this, he didn't want to stress anyone else about this, because... fuck his parents. TJ, his friends, his roommates, they gave him all the love and care he ever needed.

His parents wanted him to come to Shabbat? Probably wanted to quietly prove to the synagogue that the Goodman family hadn't completely fallen apart in the last five months. Fine. He could use the extra $100, but he wasn't going to do it for that.

Oh no. He’d quickly weighed his options—ignoring the request, lying, flat out saying ‘no.’ If he was going to do this, there was only one way that he could envision it going down.

They weren't going to get the quiet, broken Cyrus Goodman they were expecting. He was going to do it out of spite.

_Cyrus: Yeah ill come_

Cyrus looked up, catching TJ's happy, caring glance one more time before finalizing his decision. If his parents wanted to see him, well then fuck it. Let them see him. Let them see all of him.

_Cyrus: Ill bring my boyfriend too_

He had never felt so free and simultaneously terrified at the same time.

It was like a final, invisible weight had been removed from his chest at the exact same moment that someone had punched him in the gut. Cyrus slipped his phone into his pocket, not willing to see how his dad would respond, and turned to look at his friends. At TJ. At his boyfriend.

He did he best to put on a smile and push the dark thoughts from his mind. Because he had what he needed. Because fuck his parents. Because he was going to be happy. He hadn't really given a lot of thought to how he would come out to them, but something about dropping it in a grammatically-uncaring text felt... right.

His dad certainly didn’t deserve anything tearful or in-person.

So Cyrus focused in the lightness. On the positive feelings flying through his mind. He let the floating excitement bubble away in his chest, spilling out in a laugh and smile as he rejoined the group by attaching himself around TJ's shoulders. Libby's squeal and Buffy's eye-roll when TJ shifted to press a quick kiss to his bottom lip just made him even more confident.

He’d made the right decision.

"So cute," Andi cooed.

"Yeah, yeah, get a room," Buffy shook her head as the first bell began to ring. 

TJ just laughed and leaned in for another kiss—to his forehead this time—and Cyrus simply couldn't stop smiling.

This.

This was how it was supposed to feel.

**_Monday, 12:11 PM_ **

"I'm tellin' you, guys, I've got it totally figured out."

Cyrus quickly slammed his locker closed so that Marty would be sure to see him roll his eyes in disbelief.

"No, seriously, man. I've got Buffy solved."

"Gus, can you please tell me if Marty's high? Because I'm starting to think he's high."

"Honestly? Not sure I can tell the difference anymore," Gus shrugged. Cyrus shouldered his bag and laughed as Marty sputtered beside him.

It was quite nice to finally not be the one struggling with drama.

"Hey, give the guy a chance," Jonah grinned, throwing his arm over Marty's shoulder. The tone of his voice was supportive, but the look in his eye said 'I still haven't finished gleaning enjoyment from watching this train wreck.' 

"True," Gus sidled up to the other side of Marty as their gang began to make their way toward the cafeteria. "Please, regale us with your wisdom, oh Master Foss."

"Oh, laugh it up, chucklefucks. But I'm telling you, after this weekend I have sealed the deal."

"This weekend—what the fuck did you do this weekend?" Gus asked. "Did you even talk to Buffy? You were on your ass playing games with me all of Sunday!"

"No. No, I didn't speak to her as such—but!" Marty's voice rose in excitement as he held up a single finger. "That's exactly my point. I took your advice—"

"We never gave you advice." Jonah interrupted.

"Then... fuck, I don't know. I took the advice you gave Cyrus." Marty shook his head, looking from Jonah to Cyrus. "Clearly, I was coming off as too eager—"

"You can say that again," Cyrus murmured, dodging past a group of rowdy freshmen at the base of the stairs. 

"I had to establish myself as the boss, and..."

"Oh my god," Cyrus whispered, shaking his head. He was pretty sure he heard Jonah and Gus doing the exact same thing.

"Please tell me you didn't actually tell her you were 'the boss'—please, tell me I didn't miss a shitshow that amazing," the wide smile on Jonah's face seemed to confused Marty, as the older teen shook his head with an incredulous look on his face.

"Uh... no. Thanks, but I'm not an idiot," Marty slowly shoved Jonah and his over-eager smile away as they stepped onto the third floor. "Jackass. No, I just followed your advice. She tried to text me and I told her I was busy—boom. You should have seen the look she gave me this morning, it’s like a whole world of possibilities have opened up."

Marty took a moment to notice that his three friends had all stopped walking beside him, making it a few feet down the hall before turning around to see three sets of eyes fixing him with disbelieving stares.

“...What?”

“Wait, wait, wait—you and Buffy actually talk?” Jonah asked, voice filled with doubt.

“Yeah, dude, she’s fun to talk to. Just texting and shit.” Marty shrugged.

“And then you decided to... ignore her?” Gus asked, already rubbing at his temple.

“Fuck no, man. Not ignoring her—I just told her I was busy and I’d get back to her. Same shit as Cyrus. What, it’s different cause she’s not a dude?”

“No—I mean, yes but also...” Gus sighed.

“Hey, let’s give him the benefit of the doubt,” Cyrus glanced between his friends' faces—barely contained laughter for Jonah, disappointment for Gus, confusion for Marty—stepping forward until he could throw an arm around the taller teen’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s right! Marty, just... what did she say when you stopped ‘being too busy?’”

“Well that’s where my genius comes in,” Marty started eagerly, and Gus was already groaning, “I saw how much a few minutes worked for you, so I figured—a few days and she’ll be all over me!”

“Oh my god...” Jonah’s whisper was almost inaudible over Cyrus’s sigh—he may have still been new to this, but even he knew that this would not end well for his friend.

“So let’s get this straight.” Gus stepped forward, a tight smile on his lips. “You haven’t actually talked to Buffy since...”

“Since Saturday, right.”

Right.

“Okay.”

“Hey, Underdog, grabbing lunch?” TJ's smiling voice broke into the awkward, unbelieving silence that had fallen between Gus and Marty as the two of them stared at each other.

Oh thank God—a distraction. And Cyrus’s favorite distraction, at that.

“Yeah, I, uh... didn’t get a chance to pack a lunch yesterday.” There was almost a bounce in TJ’s step as he stepped over to slide into the group next to Cyrus. “Too distracted.”

“Ah, yeah,” and there was TJ’s smile, innocent and sunny as if he wasn’t entirely aware of what had kept Cyrus so distracted all weekend. That warm, fluttery fire in the pit of Cyrus’s stomach ignited itself yet again. “That’ll happen. Sometimes. If you’re not careful.”

“I’ll have to be more careful, then.”

Jonah’s not-so-subtle cough interrupted the rather intense staring contest Cyrus suddenly found himself in the middle of. And then another cough when he almost got distracted by TJ’s eyes before he got a chance to look away.

What? Isn’t a guy allowed to get lost in the eyes of—

No, Cyrus reminded himself—not for the first time that day—that they were no longer in the privacy of his apartment. There was a world. And people—friends, most importantly. 

Friends who were all staring at him and TJ with very expectant looks on their faces.

“Right. Guess now’s a good time—Gentlemen! And I do use that term... very loosely.”

“Mm, thanks, Cy.” Even as Jonah rolled his eyes, a wide smile began to grow on his face.

“This is—you know TJ. Right? Right. Well, he’s uh...” Cyrus glanced over at the older teen, and somehow that smile had grown even wider, and fuck—this felt so amazing and so simple at the same time. “My boyfriend.”

Any hope of Cyrus’s uncaring shrug keeping things nonchalant were quickly tossed out the window, as his friends—led by Jonah, who couldn’t even wait for Cyrus to finish the word—let out an ear-splitting victory cheer. There were definitely people staring—not that three shouting teenage boys was an unusual sight at Jefferson, but still.

They were really loud.

But then TJ was wrapping himself around Cyrus’s shoulders and whispering something stupid about his friends being ‘fun,’ and Cyrus just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Fuck yeah!”

“Holy shit, finally!” Marty reached forward, offering a high-five, which TJ rapidly accepted.

“Congrats, guys,” Jonah grinned, leaning with his elbow on Gus’s shoulder. “You deserve it.”

“And you’re welcome,” Marty added, pointing at the two of them.

“Hmm?” TJ glanced between Marty and his boyfriend, eyebrow raised.

“For clearing the room.”

“Ah, yeah, they were, um, at the common room. Before you texted.” Cyrus turned to look at TJ—and the amused smile on his boyfriend’s face was so unfairly cute that he could barely keep himself from leaning up for another kiss. “And then they kindly left.”

“Pfft, got thrown out on our asses, more like,” Marty scoffed.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, cause this voyeuristic asshole didn’t want to leave,” Gus shoved at Marty’s shoulder, shifting away from Jonah to step forward as well.

“Yeah! Because of the mural—y’know, I’m an under-appreciated artist. I had bad ass plans for that wall.”

“Oh, you can’t even draw a fucking stick figure.”

“Well,” TJ interjected, leaning forward just as Cyrus was about to press a quick kiss to his cheek, “I guess I owe you then, huh?”

“Oh—no, Teej, please don’t feed into his little fantasy world. It seriously doesn’t stop.” Cyrus squeezed his boyfriend’s side, pulling him a few inches back from his friends.

“Hey! Fuck you, too!”

“No, no. I insist.” TJ's voice was serious, but the shit-eating grin on his face betrayed how entertaining he was finding this. “I don’t want to start out on your friends’ bad side. How can I make it up to you?”

“Well—“

“A few of us are going to The Spoon after school on Thursday,” Jonah interrupted to Marty’s frustration. “Cider donuts and pumpkin milkshakes and shit. Wanna join?”

“Yeah!” TJ answered quickly before looking down to Cyrus with an asking smile.

“Sweet. Expect, like... an interrogation or some shit. You seem nice, but... best friend obligations, y’know?”

“Yeah, I’ll prepare myself,” TJ chuckled.

“Wait, Teej, I thought you had tutoring on Thursdays.” They had talked about TJ’s dyscalculia that weekend—another quick game of twenty questions in between makeouts and food. It was one of the things TJ had seemed more cagey about, but Cyrus was planning on being one-hundred and ten percent supportive.

“Yeah, but...” TJ shrugged still smiling widely, “I can skip one day.”

And, as much as his slow-to-die instincts were screaming to discourage irresponsible behavior, Cyrus swallowed his words. Who was he to tell his—legally an adult—boyfriend what he could and couldn’t do? He wasn't going to be like that. Not like his mom, not like Kira—he didn’t want to control TJ.

Also, who was he to say ‘no’ to an extra afternoon of time together?

So Cyrus just nodded at TJ’s smile and turned back to his friends.

“Well, see you there man,” Jonah smiled, taking a few steps back and pulling Gus and Marty with him. “I’m serious, though, expect some Spanish Inquisition level shit!”

“I’ll make sure to study up.”

Cyrus let himself delight in the stare Jonah and TJ held on each other as his friends departed for the cafeteria—friendly but unyielding. As if both of them were silently saying, ‘I like you so far, and this is a fun joke, but I’m still not going to let you take him away from me.’ Or maybe Cyrus was imagining things, but still—it was nice to feel wanted.

“So... lunch?” TJ asked as he finally dropped Jonah’s stare. “Wanna go to T-Flats? I have an unreasonable craving for tortilla chips.”

“As amazing as that sounds,” Cyrus shook his head trying to ignore the grumbling coming from his stomach at the thought of food that didn’t come from their cafeteria, “the school still hasn’t changed their opinion on Juniors leaving campus for lunch.”

“Shit—right. I knew that.”

“Yeah. Plus, I probably shouldn’t be spending extra money on burritos anyway,” Cyrus shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the doors to the cafeteria.

“Oh, shit, yeah, I probably shouldn’t either,” TJ grinned, and—like every one of his boyfriend’s smiles before it—it made Cyrus want another kiss. “Well, I won’t tempt you into delinquency today. Want me to pick you up anything?”

“No,” Cyrus lied with a shrug. “I’ll just grab a...”

When his phone first started ringing, Cyrus was mostly just confused, because... since when did people call him? But the local number that popped up on his screen as he pulled out his phone gave him pause. Because it looked vaguely familiar.

It looked suspiciously like his dad’s office number—the one he'd never got around to memorizing or putting in his phone because... c’mon. Fuck his dad.

“Hello?” He wasn’t sure why he answered. It wasn’t so much a decision as it was an immediate reaction to the sudden pulse of adrenaline droving through his chest. The thought of his dad actually calling his phone, strange enough, but on top of that...

Fuck. He had just told his dad he had a boyfriend that morning. A boyfriend who was currently staring at him with a waiting smile. And he wasn't ready for this, but he had already answered the phone, and now he was going to have to—

“Cyrus?”

Well, that wasn’t his dad. That... was definitely a feminine voice—though, unfortunately it was still familiar.

“Yeah—“

The response was immediate.

“Look, I know what’s going on between you and TJ, and I know what you think is going on, but you need to listen to—“

Cyrus yanked the phone away from his ear, earning a questioning look from TJ as he began to cover up the speaker.

The voice wasn’t just familiar—angry and hurried and more than a little self-assured—it was one he’d hoped he would never have to hear again.

“It’s Kira...”

He could still hear the murmur of her tinny voice through his hand as he stared at his phone. When he glanced back at TJ—why was his ex calling?—he saw a hardness in the older teens eyes. A familiar frustration that he had only seen once before. Narrowing his eyes, TJ reached forward and grabbed the phone from Cyrus’s hands before the younger teen could react.

“Kira—yeah, no, hey—you can’t do this shit. I told you, we’re done.” TJ shook his head, catching Cyrus’s eye for just a second before glancing back at the ground. “How ‘bout you just leave us the fuck alone, and stop bothering Cyrus. Yeah? Well then, go fuck yourself.”

And then TJ was hanging up the phone, looking at Cyrus with equal parts apology and frustration, and letting out an extremely long exhale.

“Sorry about that. She...”

“Why is Kira calling me?” He wasn’t even sure how Kira had gotten his number, much less come to the decision to give him a not-so-friendly sounding call. Was it supposed to be a threat? Was she trying to get TJ back?

“She’s just...” TJ scratched at the back of his head, exasperation written all over his face. “She’s doesn’t know what to fucking do with herself if she can’t control me, Underdog. She... don’t worry about her.”

“TJ...” Cyrus tried to search his boyfriend’s face for signs that there was anything else to be said. As much as he hated it, the image of Kira and TJ pressed together on Iris’s front porch—

No. TJ said they were over.

He chose to believe that.

“No, babe, seriously. Block her number and just...” TJ took a half step forward, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of Cyrus’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “Forget about her. Okay?”

Cyrus was surprised to see how sad TJ’s eyes looked, staring into his own, jumpily searching his face. For forgiveness? Acceptance?

He wasn’t sure why TJ looked so desperate for a response, but he could see it written the other teen’s eyes.

So he swallowed the questions fighting in his throat and nodded.

“Good.” And then TJ was kissing him again, and even with the dour mood, it was no less wonderfully stomach-twisting than every other time they’d broken the school’s PDA policy together.

“Are you still going to go out for lunch? Or can I convince you to stay here with me?” Cyrus murmured, still pressed way to close to TJ’s lips.

“Sorry, Underdog.” TJ took a step back, not quite letting go of Cyrus’s hand. “The burritos are calling me.”

“Fine,” Cyrus smirked, giving TJ’s fingers one last squeeze before dropping his hand. “Don’t get in trouble for being late.”

“I’ll do my best,” TJ winked. “Sure I can’t pick anything up for you?”

And Cyrus almost reiterated that he was fine, but...

“Actually, can you get me some chips? Ooh! And guac?”

After all, he figured. If dating an older guy came with perks, it would be a waste not to take advantage.

**_Thursday, 4:46 PM_ **

“You doin’ alright there, Underdog?”

Mouth still stuffed with his fifth cider donut, Cyrus looked up at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. A crumb-filled smile blossomed on his face as TJ dropped into the booth next to him with a hearty sigh.

“I’m good,” Cyrus mumbled as he struggled to swallow down the mouthful of sugar, apples, and dough. “Donut?”

“Uh...” TJ took a moment to eye the half-empty box of confections that sat in the center of the table. They were technically Jonah’s, but he had bought them for the gang, and really, they should’ve known better than to leave Cyrus alone with free sweets. “Nah, babe, I’m good.”

“Your loss.” Cyrus shrugged and grabbed the sweet for himself.

It was probably a good thing that they didn’t both share the same affinity for sugar—a fact that Cyrus had almost refused to believe at first. On the one hand, the bemused smiles TJ directed at him as he stuffed his face might help him stop before he ate himself out of his pants, while on the other hand, he wouldn’t have to share as often.

Wins all around.

“So, are they just like super into Halloween here?”

“Oh, have you never been here during the Fall?”

All around them, The Spoon was decked from wall to wall in orange, black, purple, and brown. Decorative skeletons and wooden witches hung from the ceiling every few feet, and an entire booth had been lost to artificial cobwebs and black plastic spiders.

“Nah, this is my first time here.”

“At The Spoon?” Cyrus asked incredulously, eyes going wide when TJ nodded. The Spoon was an institution among Jefferson students, and Cyrus had been coming with Jonah to enjoy their offerings since he was twelve.

“Okay, well then we’re definitely ordering some baby taters, and probably a milkshake—though I really wouldn’t recommend the pumpkin, I know it’s the special but it really doesn’t hold a candle to their chocolate.”

“Whatever you say, babe,” TJ nodded, affectionate amusement in his eyes. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Oh, uh...” Cyrus looked back from trying to get the attention of one of the costumed servers hovering by the entrance to the kitchen. “The girls are... I dunno. Jonah said he and the guys were gonna help Mr. Steel unload some pumpkins in exchange for some free ones.”

“And you are...”

“Holding the table.”

“Right,” TJ nodded, snaking his arm around Cyrus’s waist and pulling the smaller teen half onto his lap. “Clearly, a very important job.”

“Hey!” Cyrus slapped lightly at TJ’s shoulder, doing his best—which wasn’t very good—to look offended. “I was also waiting for you, Mr. Twenty-minutes-late.”

“I got distracted by the internet,” TJ shrugged. “Anyway, you give shit directions, so you’re lucky it was only twenty.”

“I do not give shit directions.”

“You do,” TJ grinned. “But it’s okay. I forgive you.”

“Whatever,” Cyrus shook his head, looking down to hide his smile as he shifted even more of his weight onto TJ’s legs. “You’re paying for the milkshakes now.”

“So are you as obsessed with Halloween as whoever owns this place?” TJ asked, letting his hand drop to play with the knee of Cyrus’s jeans.

“It’s not my top favorite holiday, but if you’re asking if I’m going trick-or-treating this year, then the answer is a definitive yes,” Cyrus grinned, raising his hand as an oblivious waiter walked by their booth. “It’s a tradition for Jo and I, one I don’t plan on breaking—especially since there’s no one to stop me from eating all my candy this year. And as long as you don’t try to tell me that we’re told old, you’re welcome to come with.”

“Too old to trick-or-treat!” TJ asked with feigned offense. “I would never!”

“We got a lot of dirty looks from parents last year. As if we were stealing candy from the hands of little kids.”

“Are you dressing up?” TJ hummed, leaning his chin on Cyrus’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Don’t know what yet. I’m open to ideas, but know that I’m probably allergic to most forms of costume makeup.”

“Well I’m pretty particular to plastic vampire teeth,” TJ leaned forward to lightly nip at Cyrus’s earlobe—he really was shameless—sending a shiver down his boyfriend’s spine.

“TJ...”

“But there’s nothing wrong with the classic bedsheet ghost. Hell, just pitch your voice up and you’re short enough to pass as a gangly twelve-year-old.”

“Hey! Fuck you!” Cyrus yelled as he gave TJ’s chest a much more purposeful slap.

A devilish grin flashed over TJ’s face as he leaned in until Cyrus could feel his lips ghosting over his ear.

“Maybe later.”

Even as a fiery blush pushed itself onto his cheeks, and a fluttery storm began to build in his stomach, Cyrus couldn’t help but feel surprisingly at ease. He knew he should have been anxious, should have been worried about being seen by the wrong person, but the fear just wasn’t there. He let himself shift fully onto TJ’s lap, hide his face on TJ’s shoulder as his boyfriend's laugh began to reverberate up his spine.

It just felt so natural—talking to TJ like this, touching TJ like this, being with TJ like this. So comfortable. And it’d felt like that for the entire week. Every kiss stolen as they passed each other in the hallway, when they had to say goodbye after school, when they came back together in the mornings—it all filled his head with a fuzzy warmth that just felt... right.

“Speaking of plans for later,” TJ’s grin had yet to drop, and he was clearly attempting to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. “Do you want to do something tomorrow?”

“Something like a...”

“Like a real, actual date?” TJ squeezed Cyrus’s hips lightly and shifted the teen’s weight to a more comfortable position. “Don’t get me wrong, Underdog, I am loving our unplanned hookups—crazy hot—but if you’re open to it, I’d love to—“

“Yes! Please!” Cyrus nodded eagerly, a wide smile plastering itself on his lips. “Just please say you won’t try to make dinner?”

“A—fuck you, I’m an amazing cook,” TJ shook his head, grinning as Cyrus leveled a disappointed glare his way. “But we can’t do anything at my place anyway. My parents both come back tonight.”

“Well, I think Lester may have blacklisted you from the apartment, so...”

“Ha! True. I’d feel bad taking up your only TV with a movie night.”

“Well, whatever we decide on, it has to be cheap. Or free.” Cyrus chewed on his bottom lip and offered an apologetic shrug. His dad still hadn’t gotten back to him about that month’s payment. Or the extra $100. Or the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing.

“Oh—yeah, no. I’m pretty sure these milkshakes might clear me out.”

“Wait—I mean, we don’t actually have to get—“

“I’m kidding babe,” TJ shook his head, grin still plastered on his face. “Get the milkshakes and don’t worry. I’ll figure something out for tomorrow.”

“Hope you two lovebirds are planning how to clean up that paint on the ceiling.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Buffy slid onto the bench opposite them, an amused smirk on her face at the boys’ sitting arrangement.

“Are you still on that, Driscoll?”

“Well the paint’s still there, isn’t it jackass?”

“It’s like... three spots of red ten feet off the ground.”

“It’s like a hundred splotches of tye-dye,” Buffy sat back crossing her arms over her chest. “And you’re gonna stick to you word and clean it up.”

“Don’t worry, Buff,” Cyrus jumped in, giving TJ a light kick with the back of his heels—he’d begun to realize that while TJ and Buffy knew each other, they weren’t exactly... friends—as he offered Buffy a smile. “Once we convince maintenance to let us use the ladder, I’ll—“

“We come baring pumpkins!”

Silverware clattered as Jonah dropped two pumpkins the size of his head onto the metal table with a loud clang.

“Oh, hey TJ.”

“Buffy!” Marty’s eagerness was almost as palpable as Buffy’s frustration as he nearly dropped his pumpkin and slid into the booth next to her.

“Marty.”

“You’re looking wonderful today, happy you came over.”

“Thanks. Anyway,” there was a side glance, but otherwise Buffy seemed rather uninterested in the athlete smiling next to her, “you guys seriously need to get that shit cleaned—I don’t think Metcalf has come by this week, but the last thing I need is for him to freak out over a mess.”

“Uh, yeah...” Cyrus answered, half distracted by what looked like a silent conversation happening at the end of the table between Gus and Marty. “I mean—yeah, uh... like I said, as soon as I can get the ladder. Tomorrow, if possible.”

“Sweet.”

“So, Buffy,” Marty was suddenly leaning a bit more forward, Gus and Jonah staring at him like they were waiting for something to happen. “How was your week? I barely got to see you outside of class.”

“Oh,” Buffy half-turned, causing Marty’s face to brighten, “so now you want to talk.”

Cyrus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone deflate so quickly.

“Yeah! Of course—I mean...” He watched as Marty physically started to back-peddle under Buffy’s waiting glare. It was painful to watch. “Yes?”

“Well, I’m busy,” with a tilt of her head and raised eyebrows, Buffy motioned toward Cyrus and TJ. “So, y’know, fuck off and I’ll let you know when I’m free, right? Is that how it goes?”

The disdain in her voice sent a chill down Cyrus’s spine, made even worse by the fact that Buffy actually started shooing Marty off the bench without ever dropping her glare.

“Oof,” Jonah and Gus’s voices rang out in a duet of pity.

“No, wait, Buffy, I—“

“No, seriously, I don’t have time for your mixed signal bullshit today.”

There was a short moment where it looked like Marty might actually try and argue his point—or maybe even insist that Buffy be the one to leave—but then the moment passed, and Marty sagged like a deflating balloon as he slowly pushed himself out of the booth.

“Right, I...” and then, in a whisper so quiet, Cyrus almost wasn’t sure he'd heard it, “Fuck me, then.”

The phrase, ‘retreated with his tail between his legs,’ had never felt so apt as when the four boys watched Marty drag his feet until he disappeared out the door of the diner.

“That was pretty harsh,” with a sigh, Jonah lowered himself into the booth, forcing TJ and Cyrus closer to the window.

“Believe me,” Buffy responded, shaking her head, “it was more than fair.”

“To crush the poor guy?” Gus asked, grabbing a free chair from another table of Jefferson students and pulling up a spot at the end of the table. “Come on, he’s not that bad.”

“Oh, come off it. He pulled the exact same shit with me this weekend.”

“I believe you,” Jonah held his hands up in defense. “But, to be fair, Marty only tries dumbass stuff like that because he has no idea how to talk to you.”

“Yeah, he’s like a really big puppy,” Gus added. “Just... trying to figure out what to bring you to make you smile. The poor guy doesn’t realize it’s the same dead lizard every time.”

“It’s not my damn job to teach your friend how to talk to girls, Beck. Thats on you.” Buffy accentuated her statement by poking at Jonah’s chest with a fork.

“Fine, but before we get his hopes up... again—look, does the guy even have a chance with you?”

Buffy paused, taking a second to consider the boys in front of her. TJ and Cyrus’s varying levels of friendly curiosity, Jonah and Gus’s wingman-levels of seriousness. And then she shrugged.

“No comment.”

“Oh, come on!” Jonah groaned as Buffy started pushing her way out of the booth. “Just a hint?”

“Please,” Gus added. “You could at least admit if you’re attracted to him. I mean, he’s probably like a... seven? Eight out of ten? Right guys?”

“No comment,” Cyrus shook his head as Buffy abandoned their group with a disgusted sigh.

“Mmm, yeah. I’d say he’s pretty hot.”

“TJ!”

“What?” TJ laughed as Cyrus kicked at his shins again. “You have like... exclusively attractive friends! I can’t help that I have eyes!”

“You can’t say things like that!”

“What? It’s not like I’m reading off a ranked list!”

“Wait... Do you have a ranking for us?” Jonah leaned over placing a hand on TJ’s shoulder.

“Do you?” Cyrus asked when TJ didn’t deny it fast enough.

“Of course not,” TJ scoffed, shaking his head but not dropping the shit-eating grin for a second.

“Oh my god, you do,” Cyrus groaned. “Am I at least at the top?”

“Oh, Underdog...” TJ wrapped his arms tighter around Cyrus’s hips, voice dripping with comforting affection. “You’re too short to reach the top of anything.”

**_Friday, 6:23 PM_ **

"Okay... Okay. How do I look?" Cyrus eyed himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to resist the instinct to poke at what he was pretty sure was a zit forming on his right cheek. He wanted to say that he looked... okay. Good for what he had to work with. He had a jacket that probably wouldn't protect him much from the mid-October chill but looked really good with the gray shirt he was wearing, and Reed had actually let him borrow some of his hair gel so that his mane was properly tamed for the first time in weeks. 

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine," Reed shoved his way into their small bathroom to get some space in the mirror as well, an eye-liner pencil held loosely in one hand. "Is the eyeshadow too much?"

"Too much for what..."

Cyrus glanced over at his roommate with poorly contained confusion. Reed was practically naked—at this point, nothing Cyrus hadn't seen before—as he poked at the red eyeshadow sparkling under his brows. Outside of that and some very red lipstick, the only thing Reed was wearing was a black leather chest harness—the kind Cyrus had only seen in internet ads and videos that he always tried to immediately click away from—and some sparkly red booty shorts.

He wasn't sure how the eyeshadow was supposed to be what was 'too much.'

"For Halloween, sparrow!" Reed rolled his eyes, turning away from the mirror to give Cyrus an expectant stare.

"And what are you supposed to... be?"

"A demon," Reed scoffed, pointing at his back where Cyrus could now see some shiny red bat wings attached to the harness. "Obviously."

"Right. Obviously."

"So, what do you think? Eyeshadow? Should I nix it, or what?"

"Oh, uh..." Cyrus offered an unsure smile, studying in his roommate's visage as if he had any of what to look for. "No, it, uh... it looks fine."

"Fuck, you have no idea what you're saying," Reed waved his hand dismissively. "I need Amber to get back so she can tell me if I should go with this or my cowboy costume."

"Do I even want to know what you think a cowboy looks like?" Cyrus let a little bit of the laughter he'd been holding in slip out under his voice as Reed leveled him with a glare.

"Maybe when you're older." Then, with a friendly, patronizing pat on the cheek, his roommate was pushing past him and out of the bathroom once again.

"Wait—seriously, how do I look?" Cyrus called after him as Reed disappeared into his room. "Please? Reed?"

"You look fine, sparrow," Reed's voice was muffled by the half-closed door until he emerged a few seconds later with a cheap plastic pitchfork and some red horns on a headband. "I don't know why you're stressing so much, you've already got the guy fawning over you."

"It's our first real date, asshole," Cyrus shook his head, going back to definitely not poking that fucking zit on his cheek. "It's my first date. I just don't want to screw anything up."

A moment of silence passed where Cyrus slowly realized exactly what he had just admitted—and who he'd admitted it to—before Reed's head peaked around the bathroom door, a heart-chilling smile stretching from cheek to cheek.

"Wait. Your first date, like... ever? Ever-ever?" Even without looking at him, Cyrus could hear the smile in Reed's voice. It made him want to slam the door closed with his roommate's head still resting against the frame.

"Fuck..." he let out a sigh, and then turned to face his provocatively dressed blond. "Yes. My first date. Ever. Please, can you just not—"

"Our little Cy's first date!" Reed shouted dramatically into the thankfully-empty apartment. "Oh, happy day! To think, this pall hanging over our humble home might finally be lifted!"

"Fuck off, Reed."

"What an auspicious day," Reed continued to wail with the affectation of a mother from a bad Victorian period movie. "I do so hope the dowry is delivered quickly."

"... And that's my cue to leave."

"You're underdressed if he's taking you to a nice restaurant," Reed called out as Cyrus pushed past him and back to the pile of clothes he'd tossed onto the couch. "You're overdressed if he's just taking you back to his place to deflower you. Anything else and you look perfect."

"Well, I have no idea what he's got planned," Cyrus muttered as he held up a pair of slightly wrinkled red pants. "So... yay?"

"Keeping it a surprise, huh?" Cyrus turned, and Reed was leaning against the wall with a pleased smile. "I do so love the theatricality of early relationships. Enjoy this, sparrow, before it becomes nothing but a slowly dying cycle of Netflix and takeout."

"I wouldn't mind Netflix and takeout," Cyrus shrugged, tossing the pants aside and falling on the couch with a sigh. He'd been hoping to get some more details from TJ at school that morning, but his boyfriend had apparently decided to play hooky just to avoid spoiling the surprise. Netflix and takeout sounded great. Sounded easy. Like something he wouldn't be able to screw up. If it was Netflix and takeout, then he could stop feeling so anxious. "But TJ doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let things get so... normal."

"Is that so?" Reed hummed, dancing over to fall into the side chair with an easy grin. "I guess opposites do attract after all."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I honestly thought you hated 'weird,'" Reed offered, nonchalant as he kicked at the air.

"I don't hate weird," Cyrus shook his head, leveling Reed with a questioning glare. "Why would I hate weird?"

"That's why you used to hate me."

"I never hated you."

"Bull. Shit." Reed sat up, an overly-big smile on his face. "You couldn't stand me when you first moved in with us."

"I didn't—I..." Cyrus gaped at his roommate, whose smile was becoming more and more smug with each passing second. "I was going through some serious shit, thank you very much! And you were obnoxious! You're still obnoxious!" 

Reed easily dodged the pillow Cyrus sent at his head.

"I know you weren't used to living with such a fine specimen of man, but—"

"Yeah, see?" Cyrus leaned forward, not pausing as he heard the door to the apartment open. "I don't give a shit about weird—you just don't know when to stop. Amber, please, help me out here."

The living room was the first place anyone had to walk through when they entered the apartment, which made it a pain in the ass to use as a bedroom, but also meant that Cyrus had become an expert to recognizing his roommates based on how they opened the door. It was useful information to know exactly what he needed to stop doing based on who was about to walk through his only not-very-private space. Reed usually forgot to undo the deadbolt, and then opened the door much too hard once he remembered. Lester always opened and closed the door quickly, almost as if he was trying to escape something. And Amber always took the longest—struggling to fumble with her purse and her way-too-many keys, she was always jingling outside the door for at least thirty seconds before she made her way in.

"Huh? What? I, uh..." It was Amber who walked through the door, exactly as Cyrus predicted. She just didn't look like what Cyrus was expecting. "Sorry, I just..."

There were smeared tracks of black mascara on her cheeks, messily wiped away by a tissue still clutched in one hand, but still visible with a moment's glance. Her normally bright-blue eyes were red, and glassy, and looked almost empty as she stared back at Cyrus and Reed like she almost wasn't sure why there were there. There was a pause while they all took a moment to regard each other, Reed glancing over his shoulder once and then again much more intently as he shifted slowly from his lounging position. The silence laid out the situation clearly as Amber's eyes danced from Cyrus to Reed and then to her own feet.

Something was wrong.

"Amber, is everything—?"

"Yeah! Yeah. I, um..." Amber rubbed at her eyes, shaking her head slightly as she continued through the living room as if nothing was unusual. As if she didn't look like she'd just walked through hell. "I'm just gonna go take a, uh... a nap."

Cyrus was struck silent as Amber passed the kitchen door, nodding weakly without turning back to look at the two of them. He was suddenly reminded of that night, two weeks prior, where they had cried together. Been there for each other with silence and friendly shoulders. Things had been so crazy for him—horrible and then amazing in such quick succession that he got a headrush just trying to think about it—that he'd almost forgotten. He felt frozen, stuck on the couch, unsure of what to do—unsure if there was anything he should do—as he watched her retreat into her room and shut the door behind her. And then he caught Reed's eye, equally concerned and equally surprised, and a moment of understanding passed between them.

"Amber," Reed was the first to jump up from his chair, but Cyrus wasn't far behind as they made their way to stand outside the firmly-closed door. Reed knocked, repeating his call with a softness in his voice that reminded Cyrus of his own 'intervention.' There was no response. He heard shuffling on the other side, then more shuffling, and then a pause, but still no answer. Cyrus was just about to knock again as Reed shot him a worried look when the door opened suddenly, and Amber stood before them wearing a pair of loose-fitting pajamas, hair down, and almost fresh-faced.

Except for the traces of red still apparent in her eyes, you would almost think she was a completely different person than the one who had just entered their apartment.

"Everything going okay, honey?" Cyrus could hear concern and confusion, equal in measure in Reed's voice. He knew Amber could hear it, too, as she shifted to look at him with an astonishingly empty smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm just a little tired, is all." She rubbed, lightly at her eyes, and Cyrus could see how swollen they were.

"Did... something happen?" Reed reached forward to rub gently at Amber's arm and Cyrus was relieved when she let him—he was nervous she might flinch away, or crumble at his touch, but she leaned into it a little. Seemed to draw a little strength from the contact. "Do I need to kick some boy's ass?"

The burst of laughter seemed to surprise Amber almost as much as it did her roommates.

"No," she smiled again and it seemed a bit less empty, but that was only because Cyrus could read the sadness behind it. Even as she shook her head, she was leaning even deeper into Reed's touch. "Nothing like that."

"You know you can talk to either of us," Cyrus added, unsure if it was the right thing to say. He wasn't entirely used to being on this side of the comforting process—he wasn't sure he knew the right way to reassure a distraught friend, but he tried to recall all the times one of them had been there for him. It felt like that was what he was supposed to say. It was completely true, and he felt like it was important that she knew that. "Right?"

When Amber turned to him, her smile got a little bit wider—though no less sad. There was a pause where Cyrus was left to wonder if maybe he'd blundered into the wrong thing, but then she was reaching up and squeezing his shoulder with a manicured hand. 

"You look really nice tonight, Cy," Amber shook her head, then tucked her hair behind one of her ears. "You have a date, right?"

"I, uh..." Cyrus glanced between Amber and Reed, her sad smile to his concerned frown, unsure how to respond. "Yeah. He's... TJ'll be here soon."

"That's awesome," Amber nodded, tucking the same piece of hair behind her ear again, staring at Cyrus for just a little too long before visibly swallowing and turning to face both of them. "That's really awesome."

"Amber—"

"Don't worry about me." Out of nowhere, there was a solid strength behind her voice. As if whatever had been clouding her mind had suddenly lifted as the two of them watched, dumbfounded. "I just... had a long day. Saw my parents. You know how that can be."

Cyrus glanced Reed for a clue of how to respond as Amber cracked a grin and shook her head. 

"You know, it's okay if there's anything you need to talk about," Reed sounded unconvinced as he leaned his shoulder against Amber's doorframe.

"Reed. I'm serious." Cyrus almost couldn't believe how light her voice had become. Part of him wondered if he'd imagined the past few minutes, it was such a stark change. "I promise I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Reed sighed, and Cyrus just felt confused.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Amber insisted. "Yes, I swear. I'll tell you all about my day tomorrow, okay? I just need a nap, and maybe some tea. I'll be fine."

"Amber..." It wasn't that Cyrus didn't trust her. He just didn't believe her.

"No, seriously. Go on your date, have a great time—I'll be here when you get back. Okay? Don't worry about me. Please, I'll never forgive myself if I ruin your first date because I had a bad day."

"Are you sure?" He knew Reed had just asked that—he knew how annoyed he got when people asked him if he was 'sure' when he was pushing them away. But... he just needed to be sure. He wanted to help her just like she had helped him, even if he didn't know how.

As if on cue, he felt his phone go off in his pocket. He didn't even really need to check it, but Amber stared at him expectantly, looking between his pocket and his eyes as if she was waiting for something. Even Cyrus could take that hint—Amber was done with their conversation.

_TJ: but just turned on main, be there in 10_

"TJ's almost here," it came out as a whisper, but when he looked up, Amber was looking at him with a full, warm, surprisingly happy smile. Even Reed's frown turned into a rueful grin with a shake of his head.

"She's right, sparrow. Don't let the adults arguing ruin your date—have fun, and don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"In case that wasn't clear," Amber added after a deep breath, sounding more and more like herself with every passing second, "that rules out felonies and anything heterosexual, and that's about it."

"The statement still stands," Reed shrugged, pushing away from the door and beginning to corral Cyrus back towards the living room. "Now would be a horrible time for you to start being heterosexual."

"Don't be gross, Reed," Cyrus shook his head, looking over his shoulder one last time to see Amber watching them from her door. She was still smiling at him, and it still looked real, but the knot in his stomach didn't want to unwind. Even as she shook her head turned to go back to her bed with a laugh, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. Something was wrong. Something Amber was keeping from them—and clearly had no plans of telling them that night.

But then she was gone, and Reed was pushing him through the living room, and he had no choice but to listen to his roommates' advice and believe she'd be there when he got back.

"Don't be heterophobic, sparrow," Reed warned, practiced sarcasm lacing every word. Cyrus felt better knowing that he was at least trying to seem less worried—he could tell by the way he kept checking over his shoulder that his annoying roommate wasn't entirely convinced either, but he had enough experience to know that Reed wouldn't be letting things go if something absolutely needed to be addressed. At any rate, it didn't seem to matter, as his roommate seemed dead set on forcing Cyrus out the door and onto his date with no room to argue. "They don't like it when we call them gross."

"Damnit, Reed..."

"Seriously," and then he was standing in the poorly lit hallway with Reed blocking his path back inside. "Have fun, go crazy. I don't want to see you back here until noon tomorrow at the earliest, unless it's in the hands of some very disappointed and attractive police officers, okay?"

"Fuck off," Cyrus scoffed, making sure he had everything he needed before he was apparently locked out for the night.

"Love you too," Reed cooed, and then before he could stop it, Cyrus was being pulled into a quick one-armed hug. "Be safe! Remember, always establish a safeword and get verbal consent, Yeah? And I slipped a condom in your wallet, so no excuses—play safe."

His stunned silence was answered with an obnoxiously loud kiss on the cheek and a door slammed in his face.

And yes, after he shook himself out of his shock and made his way down to the street to wait for TJ, Cyrus did check to see if Reed was telling the truth.

And yes, Reed had somehow slipped a condom into his wallet without him noticing.

And yes... it was a Magnum.

**_Friday, 7:25 PM_ **

"Okay... watch your step."

Cyrus trusted TJ. He did. But the way his boyfriend giggled as he held his hands over Cyrus's eyes was just... a little disconcerting.

"How do you expect me to watch my step," Cyrus grumbled as his foot caught on the edge of something—again—and he was forced to rely on TJ's reflexes to keep from tumbling to the ground. "You haven't let me watching anything all night!"

"We're almost there, Underdog, I promise. Step up here..."

It had been a good fifteen minutes since TJ had let him see where in the world he was. Halfway through their trip on a bus line Cyrus had never taken before, TJ had made him promise to close his eyes and keep them closed, an incredibly excited smile sitting on his face as he made his demand. It had taken a few sweet kisses to get him to agree, but TJ was convincing and Cyrus was eager to please. Within a minute, Cyrus was trying to have a conversation with his boyfriend without being able to see his face, and TJ was resolutely refusing to tell him where they were going.

Once they got off the bus, TJ's hands had gone from playfully dancing up and down his arms to covering his eyes and pushing him in the right direction at the same time. Which is how he ended up trying to climb a set of stairs while functionally blind, with absolutely no clue where he was about to end up.

Again, it's not that he didn't trust TJ. But... if this didn't end with something worth the very legitimate fear that he was about to knock all of his teeth out, there was a good chance that Cyrus might never let his boyfriend plan another date again.

"If we're not there in the next minute and a half," Cyrus's foot fell through the air, a yelp escaping from his throat as his body realized too late that there were no more stairs to climb. Mentally he updated his list—TJ good at kissing, good at art, good at being dramatic; not good at cooking, and now not good at trust exercises. "I am turning around and going back home."

"Don't worry about that," TJ whispered, lips just a few inches from Cyrus's ear, close enough for a shiver to run down his spine at the warmth of his boyfriend's breath. With one final push, Cyrus's foot came down on a new surface, one that somehow felt more solid but less sturdy than the last... whatever he'd been walking on. "We're here."

When TJ's hands left his eyes, Cyrus kept them closed for a moment longer. He gave himself a second to get his bearings, to get accustomed to the chill now that his boyfriend's body heat wasn't pressed against his back. He gave himself a chance to temper his expectations—he had no doubt that TJ had put a lot of effort into whatever he was about to see, but, really, how much could a broke highschool super-senior be expected to accomplish in a single day? So Cyrus let himself take a deep breath, let his heart calm down a few notches as TJ took a few slow steps away.

And then he opened his eyes.

And... wow. Fuck. Apparently, the answer was: TJ could accomplish whatever the fuck he wanted.

The first thing that hit Cyrus's eyes were the lights—strings of bright white bulbs burning everywhere around him against the cold black of the night. There was a railing a few feet away completely covered in twinkling brightness and—holy shit that was the river reflecting it all back at him from a few feet away. They were on the river. Why were they on the river? He could see the dull orange street lights burning on the other side, but there was nothing but black between his eyes and there because—fuck they were on a boat! Why were they on a boat—why were they on a very nice boat? A boat large enough to walk around on, to have a railing covered in lights—to have a fucking _inside_ that Cyrus could see through a set of double doors.

"How did you..."

Cyrus couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him, even as TJ ran forward to giddily wrap him up in his warmth. Above them, the sky was remarkably clear, the stars bright pinpricks of light on the backdrop behind a half-full moon. Even the way his breath fogged and refracted the lights around him astonished him.

This was... amazing.

"Do you like it?" It wasn't so much a question as a subtle brag—he could hear the smile, the laugh in TJ's voice, it was obvious his boyfriend knew what the answer to that was. Of course Cyrus liked it. Of course he loved it.

No one had ever done something like this for him before.

"TJ, this is... this is ours? For the whole night?" Cyrus spun around until he could see TJ's face, see the ecstatic joy spilling from his boyfriend's eyes. 

"For the whole weekend!" It was the widest smile he had ever seen on TJ's lips—and fuck, there was no way he would ever be able to live up this when it was his turn to plan a date.

"No..."

"Yup," TJ nodded, smile only growing larger as Cyrus spun around to take in the boat they were on once again.

"That's... TJ, how much did you spend to—"

"Mmph," TJ swooped down, effectively shushing Cyrus's question with a kiss that he couldn't help but lean in to.

"You're serious." He glanced over his boyfriend's shoulder, through the glass doors, he could make out what looked like a dining area and maybe another set of rooms. This was a legit houseboat, one of the ones he occasionally saw parked at the docks as the bus drove along the river. The ones that made him wonder _who the hell owns a houseboat?_

This could not have been cheap.

"Hell yeah I'm serious!" TJ was almost jumpy, he looked so excited—his eyes were practically creased closed with the power of his smile.

"Did you win the fucking lottery or something when I wasn't—"

"Hey!" Suddenly, TJ was spinning around to scream at the water, joy and energy crackling through his voice as he threw his arms and head back to yell to the stars. "This is my boyfriend! Cyrus Goodman is my boyfriend and he's hot as fuck!"

It was all Cyrus could do not to throw his hand over TJ's mouth—because, what the fuck was going on?—but then TJ was turning to look at him and somehow his smile was even wider than it had been. Somehow TJ was staring at him with so much affection that all his questions and confusion just disappeared into a laugh.

"TJ, what the fuck?" He couldn't do anything but laugh—laugh and run to pull his boyfriend away from the railing—as TJ shook his head.

"Gotta tell the world, Underdog," another kiss, and Cyrus couldn't help it if his chest was feeling fluttery and light and confused but somehow in a... happy way. "Gotta make those fuckers jealous."

"You are so fucking ridiculous!" He let himself be pulled into a hug, into a slow waltz to a song only TJ could hear as they began to spin slowly toward the doors. He was so fucking... happy. For once, the thought of 'this is too good to be true,' was almost covered up by the warmth of 'this is how it's supposed to be.'

"Only for you," TJ grinned, giving up on the dance to gently tug him inside. "C'mon. Come on! I've got everything we'll ever need right here."

Even though the inside of the boat was much darker—the glow of the string lights was barely enough to see where they were going—TJ wasted no time in tugging them through the room at top speed. He only let go of Cyrus's hand once they reached what looked like a table, taking a moment to mutter to himself and pat at his jacket until—

"Let there be light."

It was just a cheap lighter, the kind Jonah bought for ninety-nine cents from the gas station, but the flame was bright and steady as TJ held it between them. There was a moment, a flash of memory as Cyrus recalled the swings in the woods, the darkness interrupted only by TJ's flashlight, the frustrating game of hide and seek that might just have ended with the best prize in the world. But then TJ was turning, holding the lighter out until it's light and warmth and glow spread—first to one candle, then two, then five, then ten. Scattered across a lengthy wooden table, so many candles that by the time TJ turned back with his blindingly bright smile, Cyrus could almost forget that it was night.

"Gotta set the mood."

"This is..." Cyrus looked again and had to fight the instinct to pinch himself. This was _real_. "One hell of a mood."

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Underdog," TJ crooned as he bent down and dug into something under the table, emerging a few seconds later with a large green bottle in one hand. "Some bubbly to start the night, my good sir?"

"Champagne?" Cyrus asked, accepting the bottle as TJ quickly pushed it into his hands. With the candle-light, he was able to read the mostly white label, but it wasn't like he knew anything about brands of sparkling wine.

"Legally, no." TJ emerged once again, this time with two clear plastic cups in one hand and a paper-wrapped package in the other. "But it's the closest I could find at CVS."

"TJ, this is..." almost like he was still dancing, TJ grabbed the bottle and spun in a surprisingly graceful circle—until the end where he almost toppled into one of the chairs. "This is amazing."

"You're only saying that because you haven’t tasted the cheap champagne yet," TJ replied with a wry grin as he began unwrapping the thin foil on the neck of the bottle. "It's honestly atrocious, but, y'know, it fit the theme."

"You say that like I've ever tasted expensive champagne before," Cyrus rolled his eyes, watching TJ twist at the top of the bottle with rapt fascination. "My parents weren't exactly the type to let me snag a sip on New Year's Eve."

The pop caught him off guard—apparently, surprising TJ as well—as the cork flew off and smacked into the low ceiling with a notable crack before falling onto the table. Before his heart even had a chance to settle, TJ was cackling and lifting the fizzing bottle to his lips.

"Well, one way or another, you're in for a treat," with another twirl, and a few more unnecessary flourishes, TJ poured two full glasses of the bubbling wine before ushering Cyrus to the seat across from him.

TJ was unfortunately correct. The champagne was... not good. As much as Cyrus had yet to gain a taste for the bitter beer his friends liked to push on him, he could at least finish a bottle without wincing. That first sip—sweet, fizzy, a little sour—was so incredibly sharp that he couldn't stop his face from twisting, even as he pushed himself to down the entire glass. 

It wasn't that he wanted to get drunk. But he wouldn't mind achieving the same bubbly energy that TJ was putting off—maybe taking the edge off his nerves, off the worry that this was _too much_ and _more than he deserved_ with a little booze would help him get there.

"Wow. Yeah, uh..." Cyrus examined the cup for a second, watching the drops combine and fizz at the bottom of the clear plastic. Now that it was bubbling away in his stomach and not coating his tongue, he supposed it wasn't actually _that_ bad. It just wasn't good. He had always been lead to believe that champagne was supposed to be good. "What else you got in there?"

TJ had pulled what looked like a large cooler bag onto his lap and was digging through it as he thoughtlessly sipped at his cup. 

"Some salami," TJ pointed to the paper package already on the table, "cheese, and strawberries. Just think of this as a romantic summer picnic."

"On a river at night in the middle of October?" Cyrus reached across the table to snatch the box of strawberries from TJ's hand. "Quite a unique picnic, Mr. Kippen."

"I'm a pretty big fan of unique," TJ grinned, unwrapping what looked like a large block of bright orange cheddar. "But if you want me to feed you, you can close your eyes and pretend we're at a park."

"I wont say no to you feeding me," Cyrus picked a strawberry from the top of the package and leaned over the table to press it roughly against TJ's lips, "because I've always wanted to feel like an ancient roman aristocrat being fed as he lazed on a couch. But you're crazier than I thought if you think I'm closing my eyes around you again, Mr. 'let’s walk half the city blindfolded.'"

"Not even to blink?" TJ smirked before taking a surprisingly, breathtakingly soft nibble of the bright red berry Cyrus was holding to his mouth.

"I, uh..." Cyrus had to shake his head to get rid of the thoughts borne by red-stained lips ghosting so close to his fingers. "I mean, yeah, obviously to blink. Can you imagine if I just sat here and stared at you all night? Like, taped my eyes open?" He let out a laugh, making a show of heavy, overly slow blinking as he grabbed a strawberry for himself. "Not the type of weird I'm going for."

"Well if you do feel like staring," TJ grinned as he started unwrapping the salami, "let me know. I love the way your eyes look in the candlelight."

"Oh my God," Cyrus rolled his eyes to try to keep himself from blushing. It didn't work. The warm feeling was rising from his stomach and coloring his face before TJ could even look up from his task. "You're teasing me."

"Am not," TJ hummed, voice playful and he stood up to lean over the table. "I love your eyes."

"They're just brown," Boring, brown—nothing like TJ's stormy gray-green. About as basic as they could get.

"Then they're my favorite shade of brown," TJ replied simply, and, before Cyrus could react, leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

"You're too fucking sweet," Cyrus muttered, using all of his willpower to quash down the followup of _sweeter than I deserve_. This wasn't the time for that—he didn't need to ruin their date with his fucking self-worth issues. "Please shut up before you make me blush."

"You're already blushing," TJ let out a light, bubbly laugh as he fell back into his chair. "It's a spectacular view."

"Oh my God—fuck you!" Cyrus kicked under the table, covering his face until he felt his shoe collide with something on the other side. "Please, can we talk about something else before I die of embarrassment?"

"Fine," TJ asked after a torturously long moment of smiling at him. "What do you think of the spread?" 

"It's great," thankful for the change in subject, Cyrus looked up as TJ reached over to cut himself a slice of cheese and chunk of salami. "It's perfect, honestly."

"I would have cooked something, but I couldn't get the gas line hooked up. I was thinking chicken marsala, or maybe a pork tenderloin—"

"No! No." Cyrus eyed the food on the table once again. Store-bought, prepackaged, uncooked—this was a much, much better option. "Seriously, Teej, this is... amazing."

"Oh, shit! I almost forgot!" In a sudden burst of movement, TJ twisted to eagerly dig into his back pocket. "Jonah gave me this after The Spoon yesterday. He told me to tell you that... this was the last of your portion, but that they were probably going to uh... get more next week, or something. I was a bit distracted."

With a grin, TJ whipped out a small plastic bag with what looked like a rolled-up piece of paper inside. A moment's digging later, and he pulled out the joint, already rolled and stuffed with what looked like a good quantity of weed. Just opening the bag was enough for Cyrus to be able to the smell the earthy, familiar scent of his best friend's stash.

"Jonah gave you that?"

"Yeah, he's a good guy," TJ looked between Cyrus and the candles, raising his eyebrow for half a second before bringing the end of the paper to one of the open flames. "He didn't ask me nearly as many questions as I thought he would."

"I think hearing you call me short was all the information he needed," Cyrus rolled his eyes, watching as his boyfriend brought the softly smoking paper to his smiling lips. "Apparently, being able to mock me is key to a healthy relationship."

"Smart guy," The ever-present grin disappeared for a second as a river of white smoke began to pour from TJ’s lips. It wasn't as impressive as the smoke rings he had seen Marty practicing over the summer, but it was still a lot. A whole lot. He was surprised that TJ was able to take such a big hit without even having to clear his throat. "You want some?"

"Honestly, I don't really feel like having a coughing fit right now," Cyrus shrugged, recalling his first night at TJ's apartment with a pleasant fondness. "Don't want to ruin the mood."

"Here," TJ mumbled around a mouth full of cheese. "Let me, uh..."

Cyrus watched as TJ brought the blunt to his lips once again, sucking in an even more impressive hit before leaning out of his chair and reaching forward to grab Cyrus's shirt collar. There was a pause, an eyes wide silent exchange of 'yes or no?' as TJ held their faces a few centimeters apart, and then Cyrus nodded—just a small, barely-there nod—and their lips were pressed together.

It wasn't like any kiss Cyrus had experienced before. There wasn't actually much going on—no deep press of lips on lips, no battle of tongues, just a soft, pleasant rush of air as TJ pushed the smoke from his mouth and into Cyrus's. It only lasted a few seconds, not nearly long enough for Cyrus when it came to TJ's kisses, and then his boyfriend was leaning back with a satisfied look on his face.

"Breath in slowly. Hold it. Yeah, you got it, Underdog." Cyrus followed the instructions, pulling the slightly acrid smoke into his lungs, holding it for a few seconds, and then letting it out in tiny puffs and clouds. Maybe he was imagining it, but the arrival of the light, floating feeling in his head was almost immediate.

And for the first time ever, no coughing.

"That's called shotgunning," TJ explained, setting the slowly smoldering joint on the edge of the strawberry case. "I've been wanting to do that with you since the first night we hung out together."

"You're really not giving up on this whole 'at first sight' thing, are you?" 

Even if his words were a little jaded, Cyrus couldn't help the warm, blushing smile that pushed itself onto his face. Maybe it was the pot or the champagne, but he didn't think it had anything to do with that. He was pretty sure it was all TJ. His boyfriend was like his own drug—he'd realized over the course of the week that just being around the other teen was enough to make this floating, bubbly headrush show up. Make everything seem a little bit brighter, a little bit softer and warmer. Especially when TJ was smiling and giggling and bubbly like he was as they stared at each other across the candlelit table.

"Not gonna give up what's true."

"And this is true?"

"One hundred percent," TJ nodded, smile still wide as he held Cyrus's stare.

"You're ridiculous." It was all Cyrus could say, all he could hide behind. Because TJ was ridiculous—ridiculously hot, ridiculously fun, ridiculously dramatic.

But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"There's one more thing I've yet to show you," TJ slowly pushed himself from his chair, raising his eyebrow in response to Cyrus's obvious confusion.

"More? TJ, seriously, this is already too much—I'm already struggling to figure out how I can even come close to this for our second date."

"Mmm, yeah, but I think you'll like this anyway," He held out a hand—soft, warm, inviting. Who was Cyrus to refuse?

"And why's that?" Threading their fingers together as they stood, Cyrus let himself be pulled toward the back of the room. Two doors, and TJ was leading them towards the one on the left. "What more could you possibly have to show me?"

"How 'bout..." and without taking his eyes off Cyrus, TJ reached back and turned the handle, kicking open the door to reveal what looked to be a large, plush, very cozy-looking king-sized bed. "The bedroom."

**_Friday, 8:59 PM_ **

"Can I just spend the rest of my life here?" Cyrus asked, nuzzling into TJ's belly until the fingers stopped threading pleasantly through his hair. "On this houseboat, in this bed, with you?"

"I think we'd run out of food," TJ hummed, reaching over to snatch a strawberry from the pile of snacks they'd casually tossed onto the bedside table. 

"Boo." He was being overly dramatic, but it was fun—scrunching his nose and gently pushing himself until he was sitting against the headboard. Remarkably, TJ even seemed to enjoy his whining.

"How about this, hmm?" Another strawberry, this one pressed to Cyrus's pouting lips. "I'll rent it for us on our wedding day."

Cyrus was surprised at the way his heart thrilled—and then calmed—at TJ's words.

"We're getting married?" Cyrus asked, pushing a teasing tone into his voice just to watch TJ's smile grow wider. "Someone's presumptuous."

"Of course we're getting married!"

Even as his heart thrummed again, Cyrus only responded by widening his teasing smile. Because they were teenagers. And this was just a funny joke.

"What, you don't want to?" TJ leaned forward, grabbing another strawberry and shoving it into his mouth. "Yeah you do—think of all the cool stuff we'll have! We can have a raccoon as a ring bearer, it can take place on a giant swing, and all our friends will eat strawberries and salami and drink cheap champagne!"

"We're not going to have nice food at our wedding?" Cyrus asked, leaning into the joke as he ran his fingers up the side of TJ's thigh.

"That's the thing!" TJ mumbled around a mouthful of berries and laughter. "Our wedding will be so amazing that, after us, everyone will want nothing but strawberries and salami at all their weddings!"

Cyrus shook his head, falling back against the pillows as he tried to envision the ridiculous event TJ was laying out for them. It was crazy. Ridiculous, but fun to imagine—tuxes, Jonah as his best man, Reed as the flower girl.

But TJ wasn't done. 

"It’ll sweep the world," another berry pressed messily against his still-laughing lips without a pause in his flow of words, "GoodKip weddings, they'll put caterers everywhere out of business—and the prices of strawberries will skyrocket the demand will be so high, and Florida and California will become so rich that they'll try to secede from the union."

"Teej," Cyrus chuckled, rolling his eyes as his boyfriend laughed through squinting eyes. "Where the hell do you—"

"And then Trump will declare war," the words kept spilling faster from TJ's lips, laughter and red juice with them. "And he'll tweet about how the two of us are destroying America with our gay, strawberry eating ways. We'll be banned from Texas—but it's okay, because we'll still be on the houseboat, and we'll swear to never set foot on dry land again. We'll be strawberry pirates, stealing what we need from the rich and handing them out to gay weddings up and down the coast."

For a second, as Cyrus watched TJ rant, he felt something... shift. Just for a moment, the eyes behind the smile looked different, the laugh sounded strained, the words spilling from his lips seemed disconnected. For that instant, he felt something surge in his chest as TJ rocked back and forth on his cocoon of sheets and scratched at his forehead a bit too harshly. His heart stuttered. The teen sitting next to him felt... like he wasn't TJ. He'd seen drunk TJ before, he'd seen high TJ before, he'd seen excited TJ before.

He'd never seen this before.

And then it was gone, and his boyfriend was smiling at him and offering a berry.

"TJ—"

And then it was back again.

"But Trump will catch us, and throw us in Guantanamo Bay—and the Democrats will try to fight it, but by that point, he’s essentially a dictator so there's nothing they can do—but don't worry, Underdog, we make friends with a drug smuggler who helps us get out and then we become his best smugglers! With nothing but the houseboat!"

TJ was still laughing—harder now, in fact. He had a fist up covering his mouth, but Cyrus could see his powerful back shaking with unending laughter. He didn't even respond when Cyrus sat up and reached over for his hand—it was like he was laughing too hard to notice.

"And if you get seasick, we'll go to Antarctica to play with the penguins, and we'll paint the boat white so people think its a big iceberg, and we'll stay there until you find the solution to global warming!"

Cyrus blinked—a slow, measured blink before looking up at TJ again—and then it was gone. TJ was squeezing his hand with a large warm smile, but the laughter was subsiding and the rant seemed to have ended, and it was _TJ_ again. It was TJ looking over at him with so much untempered affection, and it was TJ shifting down the headboard so that he could nuzzle into Cyrus's side, and it was TJ who was poking against that spot on his hip that always made him squirm pleasantly.

"I, uh..." Cyrus blinked again, scared of what he might see when he looked down, but it was just TJ looking up at him. Waiting for a response. A response Cyrus had no idea how to give. "Wow."

"Not your style?" TJ asked, apparently unbothered. Apparently unconcerned with what had just happened.

What _had_ just happened?

"I, uh..."

"Answer me this, then," TJ hummed, wiggling and arm between the pillow and Cyrus's back so that he could wrap himself around the smaller teen's waist. "Out of all the parallel universes, and all the parallel Cyruses—how many of them are marrying their parallel TJ's?"

Cyrus felt a surge of relief at the chance to distract himself from what he had just... was he too high? His head was floaty and fuzzy around the edges, but it didn’t feel that strong. Had he simply imagined it? TJ seemed so unbothered, it's not like he could just... ask, right? That would ruin the night. That would be weird. So instead, he threw himself into TJ's question and allowed himself a moment to ponder the what-if's of his mind for a pleasant reason for once.

"A lot," Cyrus answered after only a few seconds of thought—part of his mind said that was weird, but the other part just felt warm and fuzzy at the thought.

"A lot?"

"Yeah." He felt like he was saying more as he answered the question—like he was agreeing to something that he desperately wanted to agree to. The intense look in TJ's eyes as they held each others' stare was more than enough to bring that overwhelming fluttering back to his chest. It was a lot, but it felt... "Yeah, a lot."

"Well, shit," TJ shifted, voice a bit softer as he reached over to take a swig from the mostly empty bottle of champagne.

For a moment, Cyrus couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. 

"We should die tonight, then."

If he hadn't been laying down, anchored solidly to the bed with twisted sheets and the weight of TJ's legs over his, Cyrus would have fallen to the floor. Even still, he couldn't stop himself from jumping back, from shifting up and away from TJ's grasp as he searched for an explanation for what he had just heard. For the sudden shift in mood. But there was nothing off—no distant stare, no uncontrolled laugh or mumbled words. There was just TJ, taking another languid gulp directly from the bottle.

"TJ..."

"While we're at our peak," it was said as if he was suggesting a spot of dessert, or another round under the covers. Like there was nothing weird about it. Like there was no reason for Cyrus to feel a chill going straight through his heart.

"Wh... Why would you say something like that?"

Why did this feel so familiar? Why was TJ saying something so... dark? So unpleasant? So definitive? Immediately his instincts told him to put distance between them, but... it was his boyfriend.

His boyfriend who was staring at him with a calm smile, and then a little eye roll and a shake of the head. His boyfriend who was chuckling and shifting himself even closer and sending Cyrus's flight instinct into hyperdrive.

"I was joking," TJ whispered as he nuzzled against Cyrus's neck despite the younger teen turning to look away from him. Pressed a kiss against his forehead even as Cyrus looked down at his chest.

"You shouldn't..."

_You shouldn't joke about things like that. You shouldn't say things like that. Please, never say something like that again._

"It was just a joke," TJ insisted, a comfortable chuckle underlying his voice as he pulled Cyrus closer. It took a moment—a long moment—but Cyrus let it happen. Let the warmth of TJ's arms encircle his chest and the weight of his boyfriend's body press against his side.

Because there was nothing to worry about.

Because he was just joking.

**_Friday, 11:37 PM_ **

"TJ...?"

The pillow Beside him was empty when a revving engine stirred Cyrus to the edge of wakefulness.

"Sorry," the response came from the other side of the room, and in his half-asleep state, Cyrus took a moment to realize that TJ was sitting on the chair in the corner, bending down over something. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Come back to bed," it came out as more of a whine than anything, but the boat wasn't very well insulated and the chill had started to sink into Cyrus's bones. He wanted his boyfriend's warmth, and at half-asleep, whining pitifully was the best he could do. 

"Go back to sleep, Underdog," TJ's voice was soft—as Cyrus burrowed into the pillow it somehow sounded even farther away. Dream-like. It sounded like a good idea.

"What're you doing...?" His words were muffled by the pillow, his mind was muted by sleep, and he just wanted his boyfriend back in bed. It was pretty much all he wanted. That, and to be unconscious again—though that, at least, was quickly becoming reality.

"Couldn't sleep," TJ whispered, standing from the chair—through dream-blurred vision, Cyrus could see that TJ was still naked as he took a few steps away from the bed. Which—that was weird. But nice. Very pleasant to look at. "Gonna go for a quick swim, I'll be right back."

"Promise?" Cyrus asked, pulling the sheets and their warmth tighter around his shoulders and sinking back into the pillow. A swim. That sounded nice.

"Yeah."

As TJ closed the door behind him, a thought started to form in Cyrus's sleep-fogged mind. One that kept him just on the edge of wakefulness as it tried to compile itself into something coherent. Something more than just a few scattered words ricocheting through his otherwise empty head. He wasn't sure how long he laid there, snug under the sheets while his brain tried to form a thought on less than half power. It was annoying, but he just wanted to figure it out and get back to sleep.

Swim...

Water...

October...

Cold.

It came together at exactly the same time he realized that he'd never heard a splash.

"TJ?"

Pushing himself out of the bed, Cyrus confirmed that TJ was, in fact, gone from the room. His ears strained for any sounds coming from the rest of the boat as his eyes scanned across the floor—there was TJ's shirt, his pants, his underwear—but he couldn't hear anything. The only sounds breaking the silence of the night were the occasional passing car and the lapping of water on the side of the boat. 

"TJ..."

There was no splashing, no coughing or tapping or yelling. Nothing that sounded like someone swimming in water that was definitely too cold to be swimming in.

"TJ!"

Cyrus tumbled out of the bed, legs caught in a knot of sheet and comforters as he grabbed the first set of clothes he could find and shoved himself into them. He didn't care what he was wearing, he didn't care about anything other than the fact that TJ was gone. _Gone. Again._ His heart was in his throat, beating so hard that it was difficult to breathe as he repeated the call for his boyfriend. For TJ. The call that echoed back to him, unanswered as he pulled on a shirt and pushed his way out of the bedroom.

The dining room was empty too—and he could already see the well-lit deck at the back had no naked teenager, no fluffy towels or wet footprints. 

_We should die tonight._ TJ had said that—why had TJ said that? Why had he let TJ say that? Had he...

He tripped over the chairs as he sprinted to the deck, voice already strained as he let out another call. Another unanswered call as he threw himself to the railing, searching desperately in the water for anything, for any sign of...

"TJ!"

The uncaring night sky echoed back only with car engines and police sirens.

His mind was racing, almost as fast as his heart, almost as twisted as his gut. No. No. TJ didn't jump—he didn't hear a splash. He would have heard a splash if TJ had jumped and he didn't hear a splash. So he was somewhere else. Somewhere else—maybe somewhere safe?

His phone was already pressed to his ear, calling TJ's cell as he threw himself off the boat and down the stairs to the dock below. Heart stuttering with every unanswered ring. Fuck. Of course, he didn't have his phone, he was naked—why the fuck was he naked? Why. Why? Cyrus could feel the tears beginning to press at the back of his eyes. Fear. He was terrified and confused and... Why was there no sign of his boyfriend? Why had he fucking disappeared off the face of the earth? Without his clothes? Without his phone?

He didn't... his chest lurched with every step, every half turn as his eyes desperately searched for pale skin and blond hair. 

He didn't know what to do.

He needed to do something. He needed... he stared at his phone, at the unanswered call to TJ, at the lack of new messages, at the lack of new voicemails, brain racing as he struggled to hold himself together. As he struggled to figure out what to do. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He stared at his fingers, at the dock, at the boat, and nothing gave him any fucking answers. He needed some fucking answers! Where the fuck was TJ? What the fuck was going on? His mind raced through ideas, through disaster scenarios, through people he could reach out to for help. 

His mom—fuck. No.

Reed and Amber? No, they wouldn't have any idea. There wasn't anything they could do. Was there anything anyone could do?

Jonah? He couldn't... he couldn't think of any way that any of his friends could help. None of them knew TJ very well. None of them would had any idea what was going on.

He needed someone who knew TJ. Someone who knew TJ better than he did. 

He needed...

As his eyes began to blur with hot, fat tears, Cyrus's fingers fumbled to opened his call log and click on the unsaved number from Monday afternoon. The one TJ had told him to block—but he'd always been so bad about actually changing numbers or doing things on his phone—the one that had never called back after that day.

"Please pick up. Please pick up. Please—Kira!"

"Cyrus?" The voice on the other side of the line sounded confused and sleepy, but, more than anything, irritated. "It's midnight, what the—"

"Kira, please, he's... TJ's gone."

"What do you mean?”

His mouth opened, tongue heavy, lips wet—but nothing came out. Nothing but confusion, and desperation, and fear.

“Cyrus?”

"He's gone! I don't... Please, I don't know where he..." He couldn't get the words out, couldn't put them together into coherent sentences in his mind without the panicky feeling in his chest becoming overwhelming. It was all he could do to force out useless fucking fragments. Splinters of thoughts.

"Where are you?" Kira’s voice didn't sound any kinder, any softer, but there was a new drive in her tone. "Cyrus, I need you to tell me where you are."

"I don't know! I don't—I'll share my location with you, I just... Please. Please."

"I'm coming to you."

Cyrus wasn't sure how long he sat there, rocking back and forth on the stairs, trying and failing to stop himself from imagining all the worst scenarios his mind could come up with. TJ's pale, bloated face looking back at him from the water. TJ bleeding out on the side of the road somewhere. TJ tossed in a dumpster, or stolen away in a van. He wasn't sure how many times he searched through every room in the boat, how many time he called that name—until his throat was raw and the tears and snot were trailing down his chin. It didn't matter. TJ wasn't there. He was gone. All Cyrus could do was wait and cry, and try not to hyperventilate.

"What happened?" Kira's voice reached his ears before she was even at the end of the dock—a solid, powerful, angry voice, pushing ahead if the tall woman stomping toward him. 

"I searched everywhere! I... I don't know," He wasn't sure why he started with that. Maybe he needed to feel like he hadn't wasted the last however many minutes while he sat there waiting for Kira to show up. "We were... we were staying in the houseboat and we were good—we were good and sleeping and... and then he said he was going for a swim, but I didn't hear a splash or anything, he just disappeared!"

His chest lurched with every breath as Kira stared at him, his heart twisted as she sighed and looked down at her feet, but his mouth couldn't stop talking. Even as the tears continued to fall.

"I didn't—By the time I woke up I didn't realize, but I don't think he jumped. He was naked, I... I don't know, but he took his shoes and now he's gone, and... Fuck!"

"Okay—okay!" Kira's voice was harsh but steady as she held Cyrus in her glare. "We just... At this point, we just have to hope the police find him."

"The police?" Whatever anchoring effect Kira's straightforwardness might have given him was shattered at the thought of TJ in handcuffs, being shoved into the back seat of a cruiser—or worse. Being shot. "Are you—I don't..." Cyrus could feel himself crumbling as Kira's glare turned venomous, as she turned away from him with a sigh. "I don't understand what's going on—"

"He's fucking bipolar, Cyrus!"

Kira was shouting, but it didn't matter. Her volume, her anger, her frustration—none of that mattered as much as the words. Nothing mattered except the way the echoed in Cyrus’s mind.

TJ was...

"Can you understand that? Fuck!"

"He..."

He could see Kira, taking in a deep breath, he could feel the tears running down his cheek, but none of it mattered. His mind was reeling—he didn't even feel like he was standing on that dock anymore.

"This boat? He found it for you? He probably fucking broke in. He—"

"He said he rented it for us..." Even though it sounded stupid, even though he knew it had been a lie, Cyrus had to say it. He needed it to be true. He needed to know that something was true.

"Come on, Cyrus. How could he have afforded this? Use your fucking brain, kid."

"I don't..." Cyrus shook his head, barely holding up enough to be able to respond to Kira's question. "I don't know."

"That's right, you don't know. You don't..." Kira sighed, shaking her head as she looked up at the sky. "Did you smoke?"

"Huh?"

"Weed. Did you smoke weed, Cyrus—for fuck’s sake!"

"I, uh..." his skin prickled as the recalled the entire night. The champagne. The shotgunning. The pleasant floating sensation as the two of them had fallen into bed together. The weird look in TJ's eye as he'd laughed uncontrollably. "A little—just a bit, we... yeah."

"That's not good," Kira bit at the inside of her thumb, muttering matter-of-factly. "He can't smoke, it messes with his meds."

"His meds?"

He had never seen TJ take any medication. He'd never heard him talk about taking medication.

"Yes, his meds—Cyrus, he's fucking sick. Do you understand that?"

"I..."

He was sick. TJ was sick. He was—

Kira's ringtone sounded like an explosion in the mostly quiet night, a shockwave that sent Cyrus reeling as she turned to answer the call.

"Yeah. Yes, this is she." A quick glance over her shoulder was all she offered, but it was more than enough to send another chill down Cyrus's spine. "Okay, thank you. Yeah. Yes, I'm coming now. I'll let his parents know, just, where are you? Yeah. Okay, I'll be there soon."

"Was that...?" _the cops?_

"Yes." Kira answered, voice impatient as she pocketed her phone.

"Did they find him?"

"Yeah, a few minutes ago—still his fucking emergency contact..."

"Are you sure we should tell his parents?" All Cyrus could think about was how his parents would react if the cops called to say he'd been found running naked through the streets. How much he would lose if that happened.

"Jesus—Of course I'm calling his fucking parents!" Kira started forward, voice raised as she narrowed her eyes. "They found him running naked, he fucking broke into a houseboat—Cyrus, this isn't a fucking teen movie, his parents need to know if he's in the fucking hospital."

The hospital.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, TJ was in the hospital. He might be hurt. He might be scared, he might—

"I'm going with you," Cyrus forced his voice to be steady and brushed away the tears from his cheek. "I'm coming—"

"No. You're not going anywhere, kid." Kira sneered, pushing at Cyrus's chest until he was forced to lower himself onto the wooden stairs behind him. "You're going to leave him alone now, and you're going to stay the fuck away from him."

"I..." Cyrus looked down at the hand pressed into his chest, looked up at the cold, desperate, uncaring eyes staring into his soul. "What?"

"You need. To stay. Away."

"No." Cyrus shook his head. "No, he might need—"

"You? Need you—look at yourself, kid. You think he—what?—loves you?" Kira scoffed looking at the sky for a second, chewing at her lip before leveling another stare directly at Cyrus's chest.

Is that what he believed? That TJ loved him? And needed him?

"Because he doesn't." There was no question in Kira's tone. No room for debate. "He _can't_ love you—you're just some idea that got stuck in his head, okay?"

He...

"No..." Cyrus shook his head, unable to do much more than that.

"You're nothing to him, Cyrus." Kira shook her head, taking a half step back. "You're just a fucking whim."

As Kira left him there, sitting on the worn wooden steps of an illegally entered boat, Cyrus felt an emptiness fill his chest. The tears stopped falling, his breathing began to steady, and eventually his hands stopped shaking. But the emptiness stayed. Because Kira was right. And his gut had been right. 

Everything really had been too good to be true.

He...

He should have known that no sane person would love him the way that TJ had made him feel loved—the way he hadn't felt since before his parents' divorce. He should have known he didn't deserve something that good. 

Because Kira was right.

He should have known better. He did know better. Maybe he always knew.

He was just a fucking whim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was tough to write. Also my life has been absolutely crazy, hence why it took about half as long as normal to write this one.
> 
> Hope you, well... sort of enjoyed it. We're getting near the end of this one, everyone.
> 
> Hope you're ready.


	9. They Are Who They Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There have been a lot of times in Cyrus's life where he didn't know what to do—and he's not entirely sure he's ever made the right choice. Maybe that's why this one is so tough.

**_Sunday, 4:34 PM_ **

It had been two days since Cyrus had seen TJ. Two days since he had seen that smile. Two days since he felt those lips pressed against his. 

Two days since Kira told him the truth. 

Two days since he'd felt happy. Two days since he'd had any idea what he was supposed to feel.

That meant it was Sunday.

That meant it was laundry day.

So Cyrus was doing laundry. 

He had never done laundry before he moved into the apartment. His mom always did it. Said it was easier because she knew how to handle every individual article of clothing—knew how to get it clean and soft and folded into a perfect square. She also took it as an opportunity to check his pockets, his closet, his sock drawer—just in case there was something to find. Not that there was ever anything to find, but, well...

It's the thought that counts.

Two weeks into his new life, he'd had no choice but to ask Amber for help. He literally didn’t know where to go. Right before she left for DC—embarrassed and timid but absolutely unwilling to wear the same underwear for a second time—he knocked on her door and swallowed his pride and forced himself to make it clear just how useless of a human being he was.

_"They have some machines in the basement but they smell like death. There's a laundromat down the street—do you have quarters?"_

_"I have no idea what the symbols on the tag mean, but you'll probably be fine as long as you separate whites and colors."_

_"Yeah, kiddo, you can just have my detergent. I won't need it once I leave."_

The laundromat was relatively empty for a Sunday afternoon, which was good. The thought of being around too many people made an unpleasant shiver run down his neck—but no, only a few other silver machines were in use, and he essentially had a corner to himself. Plenty of room to separate out his clothes, no one asking him to get out of the way of their machine, no one trying to convince him to dry their clothes together and split the cost.

No one to notice him stumble when he realized he was folding a shirt that didn't belong to him.

_"You're just a fucking whim."_

Eventually, he had stopped crying. Eventually, his stomach had settled and he'd stood up, and, by about two in the morning, he'd done a pretty good job of removing any trace of their presence from the houseboat. He made the bed. Picked up their clothes and scraps of food and blown out the candles. He wasn't sure who the lights belonged to—TJ or the boat's owner—but there was no way he'd have been able to take them down before sunrise anyway, so he left them.

It was the least he could do.

He folded TJ's shirt, setting it aside from the rest of his clothes.

It was the least he could do.

After stumbling back to the apartment at four in the morning, he'd spent most of Saturday ignoring his roommates and staring at his phone. Avoiding questions and barely eating and really not doing anything much more than doing research. Research on Bipolar Disorder.

It was the least he could do.

Things began to fall into place as he read. TJ's apparent mood changes. His sensitivity around certain subjects. Why he missed so much school and hadn't been able to graduate. TJ must have been going through some serious episodes—apparently, they could last anywhere from days to months at a time—that he had successfully kept from everyone. Because TJ was bipolar.

And there was nothing he could do about that.

_"You're just some idea that got stuck in his head."_

With a few words, Kira had shone a new light on everything TJ had ever said, anything he had ever done with Cyrus. The excited smiles. The 'love at first sight.' The dangerous, stupid decisions. How much of it had been TJ? How much of it was Cyrus just being in the right place at the right time for TJ's brain to latch on to him—the idea of him getting stuck in a manic mind?

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to this?

His folding—his thoughts—was interrupted by his phone vibrating loudly on the machine next to him.

It was two days later, and TJ had finally reached out.

He didn't know how to feel about the twisting in his gut as he decided whether or not to open it. He did—of course he opened it—but the anxiety was there anyway and he couldn't shake the feeling that it was all so _wrong_.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. It felt selfish to expect an apology, and yet a part of him was hoping for one. Or an explanation. Hoping for a magical response that would turn the clock back two days, that would undo what had happened. Or maybe he just wanted something that would calm his heart the way that TJ's smile used to.

Instead, he got a drawing.

The raccoon, writing out a note with his head down, and then balling it up and throwing it into a basket overflowing with crumpled papers.

And then, before he'd even finished staring at the first picture and trying to swallow down its meaning, another one came in. The raccoon on a crowded bus, calling excitedly to what looked like Underdog—just the thought of that nickname sent his stomach churning—from the back, only to be disappointed when it turned around to reveal itself as a random rabbit.

And then another one came in.

And another one.

And another one.

Two more drawings before he could even open the third, and it was...

It was a lot. His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his throat and his gut was churning and his head was reeling and two more images came in and... somehow, it was so much worse than if it had just been words. Because this was TJ. These drawings were so much more personal than anything he could have ever written and—TJ was fucking _bipolar_ and he was still going through an episode and...

_"Your mother is drugging you, Cyrus."_

_Amber and Jonah, his only two friends in the world, watched him with bated breath as he looked over the results of the blood test. The one he'd only agreed to after they'd promised that they would pay for it themselves, that they could stop at the clinic between school and his house, that his mom would never know. He didn't know what all the substance names meant—he was pretty sure Amber would probably tell him if he asked—but the details didn't really matter, did they?_

_His phone vibrated in his pocket._

_"What... What does that mean?"_

_He knew what it meant. He knew his mom was... intense. Controlling was an understatement—he was nearing the end of his one hour of post-school free time and she was likely already upset that he wasn't home. He knew she sometimes seemed to lose touch with reality. He knew all that. But this..._

_He felt numb. Everything he knew was a lie and he felt... numb. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?_

_There was a haze over his mind as he stared at the table. One he’d been experiencing for weeks. Was that what this was? Drugs slipped into..._

_Is that why she had started making him breakfast smoothies? Is that why she had started asking about his day and how he felt? Or let him take naps when his schedule said it was time to practice the piano?_

_He’d thought... he’d let himself think that it was just her way of trying to make him happy. For once. That she had taken heart after their fight—fight wasn't even the right word, more like disagreement—about Jonah's birthday. That she was trying to give him more freedom, trying to appreciate what he did outside the house._

_But it was a lie._

_Of course it was a lie._

_"It means we have to get you away from her," Jonah was chewing at his lip, looking almost as lost as Cyrus felt as they huddled in a back booth at The Spoon. It was a preposterous place to try to make a lifechanging decision. The seats weren't even real leather. "Right? He can't stay with her."_

_He didn’t want it to be true._

_“But what if she—“_

_"Jonah's right, Cy." Of course he was. His phone went off again, two buzzes in quick succession. "Can you go stay with your dad?"_

_"I, um..." He couldn't take his eyes off that papers for more than a few seconds. "I don't know."_

_He hadn't seen his dad since his birthday. A painfully awkward lunch where he'd answered questions about what had happened since Channukah—nothing—asked questions about how his step-brother was doing—perfect in every way—and received a Hallmark card stuffed with $100 as a reward._

__

_"We'll figure it out, okay?" Amber's hand squeezed his, and—when did his eyes get so wet? "We'll figure it out. We can... we might be able to use this to our advantage. Y'know? She improperly used prescribed medication—even your mom might back off if she's worried about losing her license."_

_Cyrus continued to stare at the table, at the papers splayed out in front of him, at the only thing in his life he believed might be real._

__

_His phone buzzed again. And again. And again._

_It was too much._

It was too much.

_Cyrus: Please stop. I cant handle it. Please._

He stared at his screen until it went black, the rhythmic spinning and shaking of the washers and dryers the only soundtrack to his slowly calming heart. He didn't... it fucking hurt, but he couldn't do it. Fuck.

He couldn't do it.

How the fuck was he supposed to do this?

The response arrived a minute later, his phone vibrating to life in his hand as his heart shot into his throat and—

It was from his dad.

Oh.

_Dad: Sorry for taking so long to reply. Is this boyfriend thing a joke?_

Cyrus's lips went numb before he realized how hard he was biting down on them. Part of him was surprised he hadn't drawn blood.

_Dad: If it's not a joke, then I don't think it would be a good idea to bring him to Shabbat._

He couldn't stop staring at the screen. It was like his eyes were glued to the words—he kept reading them and reading them and reading them and reading them. He hadn't put all that much stock in how his dad would respond to him being gay—to be honest, he had almost convinced himself that he didn't care. He'd never thought of his dad as all that conservative, and he figured that the worst that could happen was getting cut off.

_Dad: You know your mom, she wouldn't understand._

It was almost funny, then, that this—his dad didn't really care, did he?—somehow felt so much worse. He didn't care. He just... didn't care. Cyrus being gay was... an inconvenience at worst. Even this couldn't get Norman Goodman to give a shit about his son.

Each text was just another blow to drive in the nail.

He'd never felt so fucking invisible.

Fuck.

_Cyrus: ~~You got me just a joke. I was~~_

No. He didn’t even let himself finish the sentence before he erased it, the words feeling too sour in his mind. His instincts wanted him to send it, to return to the safety of the closet—to give his dad another chance to respond sometime down the road. But those were bad instincts. He knew that now.

Fuck.

He never sent a response to his dad.

TJ never sent a response to him.

And he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of that.

**_Sunday, 7:25 PM_ **

The lights were low in the apartment as Cyrus shoved open the door with the brunt of his laundry bag—he really needed to get better about doing laundry before his basket was equal to half his body weight. The kitchen was empty and, unusually enough, it looked like everyone's doors were open, but the only sound was coming from the living room. Hushed voices, just barely audible even if he was only one corner away. There were even candles lit.

Whatever mood Amber and Reed had been going for, Cyrus dropping a basket of freshly cleaned and folded clothes in the center of the hallway probably didn't add to the ambiance.

"Hey, guys..." It had taken him a second to realize they were both staring at him, head too full of questions about TJ to realize they had both been whispering before he'd arrived, to realize that he was probably disturbing something—even if he was technically in his own room. "Something up?"

He watched as the two of them exchanged glances, as Amber took a large gulp of whatever was in her glass before nodding. "We were talking," Amber nodded, not quite looking Cyrus in the eyes. "About... y'know..."

"Oh. Um... Right. Should I clear out, then?" he asked, already reaching for his phone—Jonah probably wouldn't mind letting him sleepover. It had been way too long since they'd had a sleepover.

"No," Amber sighed, gesturing to the empty chair next to the couch. "No, C'mon, kiddo. You'll just hear it from Reed within a week anyway."

"Fuck you! I'm a very good secret keeper!"

"Bullshit!"

Cyrus just nodded as Amber shoved Reed's shoulder, opting to ignore the nickname for once in favor of falling into the chair. He wasn't sure what kind of face he was supposed to be making. Based on the looks Amber and Reed had been giving him upon his arrival, somber felt like the correct answer. Especially once his two roommates calmed down, and Reed turned to offer him a sip of whatever was in his glass while Amber cleared her throat.

Whatever it was they were drinking burned like fire as it trickled its way down Cyrus's throat.

"So," Amber started, ignoring Cyrus's wince and subsequent glare while he handed the glass back to Reed, "I guess what I'm saying is that DC wasn't all the rainbows and butterflies like I made it out to be."

"No surprise there," Reed shrugged, finishing off his drink with ease. "Half the people that live there are actively trying to destroy the world—I mean, they call it a swamp for a reason, right?"

"Well, I mean DC itself was great," Amber shook her head, sighing as she eyed the ice slowly melting in her glass. "I really did like living somewhere that felt... important. Y'know? Like, yeah—Shadyside's big, but nothing happens here."

Amber had always talked about how she wanted to get out of Shadyside when they were younger. It was one of the things she and Cyrus had bonded over—the difference was that Amber wanted to go somewhere _important_ and Cyrus just wanted to go somewhere _else_. Somewhere away from his family.

"Did something happen?" He heard Reed ask and watched silently as Amber shook her head.

"No. Nothing specific. It was just... the internship ended being harder than I thought. It took up all my time and then it just... ended," she raised her hands up in a confused shrug, ice clinking as her drink sloshed a little. "And I had nothing. I hadn't made any friends—not exactly my specialty—"

"Average people can't handle you," Reed slipped in, a stupid smile on his face.

"Yeah," Amber scoffed. "Anyway, I spent three weeks in my shitty studio apartment doing absolutely nothing, just waiting for school to start, and I was beginning to worry that nothing was going to change just because classes began, and, um... and then I got a call from my mom."

Amber set her glass down and shrugged, but her eyes were focused on on the couch cushion, on her fingers, on the rug—anywhere but Cyrus or Reed.

"My dad hadn't been feeling very well, I guess. And you know him, Cy, he's stubborn as hell, but she finally convinced him to go get checked out and, uh..." she paused and looked up just long enough for Cyrus to see how wet and shiny her eyes were. "Turned out he has cancer."

Amber sat up taller, then, clearing her throat but still keeping her eyes focused on her knees, the coffee table, her hands. 

Despite her words, Cyrus didn't actually know Amber's father well. He'd only met the man a handful of times—mostly when he used to pick Amber up from babysitting—but her words still felt like a punch in the gut. He tried to catch her eye, tried to catch Reed's eye, tried to get any clue as to how he was supposed to respond to something like... something like this. But there was no right way to respond—he could tell Reed felt just as lost as him as he stared at his glass with wide, conflicted eyes.

"Am—"

"Pancreatic cancer," Amber cleared her throat once again, wiping at her eyes, "Stage 3—I looked it up that night. It, um... it was pretty clear about his chances. One year was a lot to hope for, much less three. I knew I couldn't just stay in DC. I—they were treating him aggressively, but I knew I needed to spend whatever time I... I could with him while he was still..."

Cyrus could only stare as the tears started falling down Amber's cheeks, an uncomfortable numbness clawing at the back of his throat. 

Amber's dad was... dying. Soon. And she'd known that—she'd known since before she even came back, and he had no idea and—fuck! He wanted to reach out to her, he wanted to offer to help, he wanted to take back all the complaining and whining of the past few weeks but what the fuck was that going to do when her dad was _dying_. What was he supposed to do?

He sat in his chair and watched as Reed reached over to squeeze her hand.

"I didn't tell my mom," Amber started again, shaking her head and wiping at the tears, "but I withdrew from the semester. My landlord let me out of my lease, and I just," she shrugged before finishing her drink with a large gulp. "I jumped on the first flight back, and I went straight home, and... there was nobody there. They were at the hospital, I knew that, but I could already... It looked like my dad had essentially moved onto the couch—there were blankets and pillows and the coffee table was just covered in pill bottles, and everything just smelled... _wrong_. It smelled like... like antiseptic, and cleaning solution, and sick, and I—I knew they were at the hospital, I knew he was in the middle of some treatment, and it was five fucking minutes away, and..."

Amber paused, and Cyrus saw Reed's hand squeeze her's again on the edge of his vision. She was shaking her head, harder than she had been as the tears made their way down to her chin, dropping onto her blouse and into her lap in large, haphazard spots of dampness.

"I couldn't." Her voice was thick, and wet, and sounded so fucking disappointed that Cyrus couldn't stop himself from jumping up from his chair and pushing himself onto the cushion behind her. He just needed to give her a hug. "I couldn't do it. I sat in that house for... for less than a fucking hour and I had to get out of there. Came here—I just, I kept thinking that I would get over it. That I would wake up tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, and I would be able to go see him—I tried to go to the hospital on Friday and I couldn't even get through the doors. I just kept picturing him pale and bald and weak, tubes in all his arms, and I..." he could feel her shoulders shaking under his touch as she shook her head, searching for the words. 

"I haven't spoken to either of my parents since I got here."

"Amber," Reed's voice was soft, so fucking soft and concerned as he leaned in a little closer. "Amber, it's okay."

"No! It's fucking not!" Amber's voice cracked as she shoved at his hand—but didn't actually let his fingers slip out of hers. "Why do you think I haven't told you—I'm fucking ashamed of myself! My dad's dying five miles away from me and I can't even go see him because I'm... I'm fucking pathetic!"

"No," Cyrus shook his head as he squeezed her shoulder, even if she couldn't see him. She was wrong. She had to be wrong—Amber and 'pathetic' did not go together in his head. She was one of the strongest people he knew! "Amber, you're not."

"I am! I'm fucking terrified!"

"No—Amber, honey, you're grieving! Everyone deals with grief differently," Reed assured, edging a bit closer to throw an arm around her shoulder. "You're going to get through this, okay? No—don't you shake your head at me—you are. You are! And I'm going to be right beside you while you do."

Cyrus mirrored Reed's actions, pulling himself closer to press against Amber's back. "We're all here for you."

"Fuck!" Amber was aggressively wiping at her cheeks, trying to sniff away the mess running down her face. 

They stayed like that, sandwiched together for who knows how long. Until Amber's shoulders stopped shaking, until her breath settled, until her tears stopped having to be wiped away. They stayed huddled together, an impenetrable defense against the world. Because it felt like it was the right thing to do. Because Cyrus would do anything for Amber, he just didn't know what she needed, because even if they'd never say it out loud, they all fucking loved each other. Because it felt good to hold close the most important people in his life. It felt real. It felt stable. When Amber finally pushed them all apart, loosing an exaggerated grunt of frustration as Reed refused to let go, the moon and the candles were all that illuminated the room.

"Shit, I... I'm sorry guys," Amber sighed, letting out a little hiccup-laugh as she rubbed at her cheek. "I really ruined the mood tonight, didn't I?"

"Oh, come on, darling," Reed shook his head, leaning back onto the arm of the couch. "It's Sunday. Since when do we do anything besides drink and complain on a Sunday?"

"Can we do that?" Amber asked, voice sounding a bit lighter, a bit more free than it had for quite some time. "The drinking part?"

"Amber..." Cyrus hedged. "Are you sure—"

"Oh, come off it, sparrow!" Reed was already standing, already heading toward the kitchen and likely another glass of his fiery drink. "If Amber wants to engage in the time-honored tradition of drinking her sorrows away, then who are we to stop her?"

"Her friends?" Cyrus called after the retreating blond, to no avail. He gave a quick glance toward Amber but she simply offered a tight-lipped smile and a shrug.

This seemed like a bad idea.

"Exactly!" Reed called, already emerging with a bottle of red-brown liquor in one hand and three glasses in the other. "Therefore it is our responsibility—nay, our privilege—to help her have an amazing time tonight."

This seemed like a very bad, very irresponsible idea.

Reed went to pour the first glass, but before he could even unscrew the top, Amber had snatched the bottle from his hands and was raising it to her lips with a defiant stare.

This seemed like an incredibly bad idea.

"C'mon, kiddo," Reed winked, stealing the bottle back from Amber. "You look like you need this, too."

Cyrus glanced between Amber and Reed, both wiping at their mouths as they stared at him expectantly. His chest lurched as he tried to figure out what part of him made him look like he needed a drink. His throat tightened as he remembered that he'd spent the last two days moping around the apartment doing research and barely saying a word to anyone.

This was a monstrously bad idea.

"Fuck."

**_Sunday, 8:41 PM_ **

"So he's in my Differential Equations lecture, and we've hooked up at three separate parties but he still won't even give me the time of day!" Reed took another swig of the noticeably emptier bottle before handing it back to Cyrus, who was finding Reed's rant to be unreasonably funny. "It's like, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I can't even get him to look in my direction, but give him some booze on the weekend and he can't keep his dick in his pants!"

"Why do you keep hooking up with him, then?" Amber giggled, shifting so that her head was more comfortably in Cyrus's lap while she kicked at Reed's chest.

"I don't know!" Reed lamented, pushing Amber's foot back to the top of the couch. "He's hot! And he actually asks useful questions in lectures—you know I like nerds!"

"Oh my god!" Cyrus struggled to hold in his laughter, body shaking with the effort. His self-control had been lowered by the alcohol—maybe more alcohol than he'd ever had flowing through his veins—but even drunk-Cyrus knew better than to openly laugh at Reed. "Are you, like... romantically-like interested in this guy?"

"Maybe!" Reed pointed at Cyrus with a grimace before falling back into a pleasant smile. "But you have no proof!"

"Have you ever even talked to the guy?" Amber asked, swiping the bottle from him as soon as he'd brought it away from his lips. "Like, when you didn't have his dick in your mouth? Maybe he asks questions 'cause he's dumb as a rock."

"But what if he's not!" Reed shoved himself farther into the couch cushions dramatically. "What if he's just as funny and smart as he is good at sex!"

"Hot, smart, funny, and good at sex?" Amber pushed herself up on her elbows, digging painfully into Cyrus's thigh in the process. "Maybe he just knows he's too good for you."

"Fuck you!" Reed grabbed the bottle and took a defiant swig. "I'm all those things and more, baby girl!"

"I think you're good how you are," Cyrus edged away from Amber's pointy elbows—so fucking pointy—allowing himself to be enveloped by the corner of the cushions. "Honestly? Seriously? You've got it good, man. Simple—fun with no drama? I'd kill to be in your shoes."

"Oh fuck off," Reed rolled his eyes. "You've had a Prince-fucking-Charming attached to your hip all week. Fuckin... makes you disgusting breakfasts and everythin'. Bastard."

"Me?" Cyrus scoffed, that uncomfortable ache in his stomach starting to bubble, reminding him that it was time for more booze. "I don't have shit!"

"What?" Amber called, high pitched and a little bit slurred. "Since when?"

"Since Friday. He had a fucking breakdown," Cyrus accepted the bottle from Reed and fell back against the couch. It still felt like fire in his mouth and down his throat, but it was much less intense than when the bottle was still mostly full. More like dying embers than a raging bonfire. "Fucking... ran off into the night. Apparently he's bipolar, so... fuck me, I guess!"

"Seriously?"

"Mhmm," Cyrus took yet another swig, enjoying the way the room was starting to spin slowly around his. Enjoying the way he wasn't entirely sure where all the parts of his body were.

"Shit... well, I still have it worse," Reed scoffed.

"Uh... fuck you! Did you hear me?" Cyrus pushed the bottle into Amber's hands. "My boyfriend's bipolar!"

"And my guy's a fucking tease!"

"No, hey, fuck you both!" Amber called, finally pushing herself into a normal—if slightly unstable—sitting position. "I have it the worst! I haven't been with a guy since fucking high school!"

A moment of slightly off-balance silence passed as all three of them exchanged accusatory glances, Amber holding the bottle in her lap for dear life.

"Okay, yeah," Cyrus and Reed both nodded in agreement.

"You've got it the worst."

"That's fuckin' right!" Amber celebrated her minor victory the same way they'd been celebrating everything all night—with another swig.

"Lester!" Reed's voice echoed excitedly between Cyrus's ears as he realized that Lester had just stumbled into the living room, and Reed was not, in fact, just chanting his name at random. Huh. He hadn't heard him come through the door at all."Lester, join us! We're drunk!"

"We have Jack!" Amber held out the bottle in Lester's general direction.

"Jack!" Cyrus echoed.

They all watched with unreasonably bated breath as Lester looked between the three of them, then down at the basket of laundry still sitting in the dark hallway, and then down to his room. A moment passed, one that felt like a blurry eon, until Lester turned back to the couch with a big, slightly crooked smile on his face.

"Fuck yeah, I'll take some Jack."

Cyrus got the feeling that, before he'd moved in, nights like this had been fairly common among his older roommates. They seemed to fall into a pattern fairly quickly—Lester putting on music that Cyrus had never heard before, Amber finally pouring the liquor into the glasses that had sat unused on the coffee table for the past hour, and Reed disappearing into his room, only to reemerge a moment later with a miniature disco light. Soon, Reed's stash of beer had been broken into, and Cyrus had passed from 'maybe the drunkest he'd ever been,' to 'definitely the drunkest he'd ever been.'

And he had to admit... it was pretty fucking nice.

His head felt like it wasn't quite attached to his body, more bobbing along in the space a few feet above his head as the room slowly spun around him. Reed's light seemed incredibly bright, and his roommates seemed incredibly loud, and everything they were saying was goddamn _hilarious_ as they passed the bottle around. And it was all he could think about. Reed's stupid jokes about Amber not getting laid, the music pounding in his ears, the sweet-bitter-burning still dancing across his lips—everything else had fled his mind. For the first time in his life, there were no scheming voices or anxious whispers. Everything that wasn't right there, right at that moment, was utterly unimportant. 

It was freeing. Even if he could barely move.

The dancing started when Amber's 'favorite song' came on she gave none of them a choice as to whether they wanted to join. She was quite a bit stronger than Cyrus and it took her almost no effort to yank him out of his corner of the couch and start jostling him a little off time with the music until he was dancing on his own. Then Reed and Lester were joining, and Reed was asking if he should try inviting his 'guy' over and Lester and Amber were screaming at him, and they were all dancing and all drinking—why did he always put up so much resistance against dancing? And drinking? Dancing was amazing. Drinking was more amazing! It was all just... fucking amazing.

And then the song changed, and an electric shock jolted through Cyrus's body.

Whatever balance he'd been able to maintain was immediately lost—he couldn't stop himself from tumbling onto the couch, even as his roommates kept dancing and drinking, completely unbothered by the pounding, eardrum-shattering bass of the horrid song blasting through the speakers. The familiar, awful, gut-twisting song that TJ had played for him their first night hanging out together.

Amber didn't notice as he clamped his hands over his ears, neither, apparently, did Lester or Reed. They were too consumed with the music and dance and drink and fun to notice Cyrus curling up on the couch behind them.

It all came rushing back—in an instant, his mind was drowning in memories and questions and fear. TJ. The boat. TJ. Bipolar disorder. TJ.

He felt sick.

He felt scared.

He felt everything—overwhelmed and empty and so fucking confused as the room spun around his head, as his stomach and heart seemed to twist and churn off-tempo.

This wasn't okay. He wasn't okay.

He was terrified of the thought, but... fuck!

He wanted TJ.

**_Monday, 7:42 PM_ **

"Dude, you look... rough."

"Please... don't talk so loud."

Cyrus glanced up from his spot on the ground, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun shining its way into the courtyard. His stomach lurched as Jonah casually offered him a section of orange—combined with the throbbing pain emanating from the base of his skull and the fuzzy feeling still coating his tongue, there was a very good chance that Cyrus was about to throw up right then and there.

Again.

"No. Thanks, I'm good."

"Dude," Jonah lowered himself to the ground next to Cyrus, sitting back against the building with a sigh, "are you... hungover?"

"Is that what this is?" Cyrus pressed his hands to his temples, sighing into the light relief of pain caused by the pressure. "I feel like I'm being punished by God."

"Dude, no way!" Jonah's too-loud cheered sent echoes of pain through Cyrus's head as the older teen suddenly started digging through his bag. "Did you go out last night—did you go out with TJ?"

A pair of sunglasses suddenly appeared in front of Cyrus, held out by an eagerly smiling Jonah with an insistent energy that he did _not_ have the stamina to argue with. Plus, blocking out the sun sounded nice.

"No, I wasn't drinking with TJ..." Cyrus shook his head as gently as he could so as not to set off an avalanche of pain—he'd been moving as carefully as possible since crawling off the couch and into this world of hell that morning. "I was drinking because of TJ."

"Oh," Jonah's smile fell astonishingly fast—which always made Cyrus's stomach twist, but with the added intensity of the hangover nearly made him keel over. "That's... I mean—"

"Not healthy? Yeah. I know, but you can try to convince Reed. I don't exactly plan on repeating it any time soon."

"Yeah, but... are you okay?" There was a hand on his shoulder, a gentle squeeze, and he just didn't have the mental control to keep himself from leaning his entire weight into his best friend's side. Jonah, always the trooper, just wrapped his arm around Cyrus's shoulder and pulled his miserable friend even closer. 

"No..."

"Did TJ... do something? Did he hurt you?"

Did TJ do something? If only it were that simple.

"Other than scare the shit out of me and disappear into the night?"

He didn't need to look to know that Jonah was giving him a confused, extremely concerned look—which was good, because he wasn't entirely sure that he could turn his neck to that angle without dying. Cyrus heard his friend shift to stare at the top of his head, felt the arm around his shoulder grip him just a little bit tighter, heard the slight intake of breath, and he knew that he couldn't just leave it at that.

"So... turns out he's bipolar."

"Who's bipolar?"

When the fuck did Marty and Gus arrive? And why were they both holding coffees that smelled so strongly of sugar and Fall that Cyrus's stomach gave yet another lurch?

"TJ," Cyrus sighed, pushing himself out of Jonah's grip to stare at his friends through the borrowed sunglasses.

"Oh shit. Hey, isn't Kanye West bipolar?" Gus asked to an unenergetic shrug from both Jonah and Cyrus.

"Oh yeah! My mom got super excited when she heard about that," Marty lowered himself to the ground across from Cyrus, using his own bag to lean against. 

"Your mom?"

"Yeah, she's bipolar, too," Marty shrugged, pulling out a protein bar and taking a large bite.

"Seriously?"

"Oh shit, I'm... I'm sorry dude," Cyrus leaned forward a little, still not moving too quickly lest his head fall off his shoulders, "I had no idea."

"Sorry for what?" Marty scoffed, glancing between the three of them with a confused look. "It's not like she has cancer or something. She's just bipolar."

Cyrus's wince went unnoticed by the rest of the gang.

"Yeah, um, but..." Cyrus glanced away as Marty took another large bite of the chocolatey protein bar, "that's gotta be rough, right?"

Given his experience with his own mom, he felt a spark of camaraderie with Marty flutter to life. For a brief second, he wondered if he and Marty had ever gone through any similar experiences. Had a young Marty ever stared at his classmates, wishing his family was functional like theirs? Wishing for normality? Had he ever gone through anything that made him want to leave? Run away? He knew they wouldn't have had identical lives—his mom had issues way past just being a bit disconnected from acceptable societal norms and, like... laws. But still, it couldn't have been—

"Mostly, I just think it's funny." Marty shrugged again, looking confused as Cyrus continued to stare at him. "I mean, don't get me wrong—sometimes it sucks ass. But most of the time it just makes me laugh."

"Laugh?" Gus asked, sounding as skeptical as Cyrus was feeling. 

"I don't think funny's the word you're looking for," Cyrus muttered, looking down at the ground. It certainly didn't feel 'funny' when he found out about TJ. Definitely didn't make him want to fucking _chuckle_.

"No, dude, it totally is," Marty laughed through his protein bar—not the most appealing thing Cyrus had ever seen—as he shook his head. "Like... Oh fuck, yeah, get this—a few years before I was born, my mom saw a movie with Antonio Banderas in it for the first time? Boom. Fell head over heels in love with him. Just like that—she flew to England and went straight to his house! I swear, I'm not fucking with you. The police got called—it was almost an international incident!" He sat back, looking incredibly proud of his story as Gus whispered 'what the fuck...' beside him.

"Dude, that's..."

"I know!" Marty grinned. "I could have been Antonio Banderas's son!" The very, very caucasian jock pointed to his face excitedly, as if the rest of them were supposed to be seeing something. "You know, sometimes she says I sort of look like him, and I wonder..."

"I'm trying to think of an appropriate joke to respond to that," Gus reached over to shove Marty off-balance, earning a quick glare. "Give me a second. I know it's out there, I just need to—"

"Anyway..." Marty cleared his throat, turning to Cyrus as he took another large bite of his protein bar. "So what's TJ doing now?"

"Oh, uh... doing?" Cyrus glanced down as his darkened phone, a confused frown on his lips. "I, uh, I don't... know? He's probably still at home."

"No, I mean, like... is he having manic or depressive episode?"

"Oh," Cyrus glanced down at his hands again, hoping the sunglasses were successfully hiding his eyes. "I'm not, uh... entirely sure, but based off what happened on Friday, I think... manic?"

At least, that was what his research had pointed to. Periods of high energy, talking quickly and racing thoughts, impaired judgment coupled with poor decision making. Pretty much a perfect fit for Friday night.

"What happened on Friday?

"He got weird," Cyrus sighed, shaking his head and then immediately regretting the movement. "And then he slipped away in the middle of the night to go run through the city naked, so..."

"No!" Marty was leaning forward, almost onto his knees with a disbelieving smile on his face. "Naked?"

"I mean... yes?"

The burst of laughter caught him a little off guard.

"Dude, that's fucking hilarious!"

"I promise you," Cyrus sat back, sending a glare at his friends through his darkened lenses, "it was not."

"It is!" Marty fell back on his haunches, pointing at Cyrus with his half-eaten protein bar as another bark of laughter escaped his throat. "Dude! If it wasn't your boyfriend... I mean, uh..." apparently a glare from all three of them, Gus actually pulling down his glasses to make his point clear, was enough to get him to take a bit of a step back. "I mean, how's he doing now?"

"I don't know. I haven't talked to him since Friday."

"Seriously?" The question hung in the air for a moment, and, even though Marty was the only one to ask, Cyrus can feel questioning glances from all three of them. "Wait... why?"

"It didn't feel like a good idea," Cyrus shrugged.

"Why... not?" Marty leaned forward once again, voice laced with confusion.

"Because he's bipolar! He's not in his... I dunno—in his right mind!"

"So?" There was an astonished confusion in Marty's voice as he fixed Cyrus with a stare. "Dude, he's not dead! If he's in like... crisis-mode, yeah, he's probably not at his best right now—I mean, when my mom's manic she can be a pain in the ass to deal with—but it's not forever! Once it's passed, my mom is super chill! TJ, too, I bet!"

A moment passed as Cyrus and Marty held each other's stares, and Cyrus began to get the distinctly unfamiliar feeling that he was about to lose an argument to Marty Foss. About feelings. Which was bullshit

Maybe that's why he felt the conflagration of shame start to lick at his ears.

"Look—has he reached out to you since Friday?"

"Yeah..." he still hadn't responded since... not since the pictures. Not since Cyrus asked him to stop.

"Well, fuck! There you go!" Marty slammed his palm against his thigh, somehow looking like someone who had just solved world hunger. "What did you say back? Maybe he wants to see you."

Why _hadn't_ he gone to see TJ? Did he have an excuse other than the way his stomach twisted into knots at Marty's suggestion?

_You think he loves you? He doesn't. He can't love you._

"I..." Cyrus took a second to swallow around the thickness of his tongue, to glance down at the ground and tell himself that the queasiness he was feeling was just from Marty talking with his mouth full, "I didn't want to make anything worse. I, uh... on Friday, Kira said that it's not good for him to see me. And besides..." he took another moment to breathe, and tried not to make it obvious how much it hurt to say it out loud, "he doesn't care about me, anyway."

"Okay, hold on a sec—" Cyrus was too busy staring at the ground to be prepared for the wadded up ball of paper Gus tossed at his forehead, "—who the fuck is Kira?" 

"His girl—his ex-girlfriend."

"Dude..." Jonah's incredulous whisper reached his ears just as Marty's eyes went wide.

"Okay, so we're listening to his ex now?" the older teen scoffed. "What's next—your fuckin'... horoscope told you it was a bad idea?"

"C'mon, Cy, you're smarter than that." Jonah's hand on his shoulder felt a bit less supportive given how unsure he sounded of his own words. "Dude, she's fucking with you—of course she's gonna say shit like that to the guy who stole her man!"

"No, Jo, you weren't there!" Cyrus shrugged off his friend's arm, shaking his head. "You didn't see how... fucked everything was—she... she knows him better than anyone."

"Then go ask TJ!" Marty lamented, mouth full of the entire last third of his chocolate protein bar. "Just cause he's bipolar doesn't mean he can't speak for himself! Dumbass!"

"Dude," Gus jumped in and Cyrus was starting to feel like he was being lectured. "Of course he cares about you—he broke up with his fucking girlfriend for you! That's like... Romeo and Juliet level dedication!"

"Romeo and Juliet ended with a lot of deaths..." Cyrus muttered under his breath.

"Because they were both idiots" Gus retorted, "so—fuck you, the analogy still stands." 

"Cyrus, man, you need to get your head out of your ass. He _likes_ you." Marty leaned forward again, tossing his empty wrapper at Cyrus's chest. "Fucker doesn't realize how good he has it—dude, he met your roommates, he met your friends, you guys like spending time together. Right?"

"Yeah..."

"Even when he's not his best he reached out to you—dude, he wants to see you! Fuck whatever this Kiva-chick says!"

Cyrus shook his head weakly—he couldn't help it, it was a reflex by that point. It was just safer to assume that things weren't going to go his way. History tended to pan out that way.

"Look, I'm not sayin' it's gonna be all rainbows and butterflies," Marty continued, mouth still laced with traces of chocolate. "But don't think that being bipolar makes this shit any less real for him. If he's anything like my mom, he's feeling it more."

Cyrus looked to his side, to Jonah who was nodding with a bemused—if not appreciative—smile as watched Marty open, and subsequently consume whole, another protein bar without actually pausing his words. Gus nodded across from them, looking satisfied with himself. 

Fuck...

"So if you like this guy—and don't fuckin' pussy out and suddenly start saying you don't—don't let this shit stop you. Man up, Goodman!" Marty paused just long enough to swallow his disgusting mouthful and give a little shrug, and Cyrus could no longer fight off the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "You gotta accept people for who they are."

He could feel Marty's words embedding themselves into his brain—something he'd never thought he could be happy about until that morning. Accept TJ for who he was? That shouldn't be that hard, right?

He just needed to figure out who exactly TJ was. Simple as that.

Right.

... Fuck.

"Holy shit," Jonah's incredulous murmur came from the side as he leaned into Cyrus's shoulder. "You're smarter than you look, Foss!"

"Thank you!" A proud smile graced Marty's face for a full ten seconds before falling into a look of consternation. "Wait a... does that mean I look stupid?"

"No, no!" Jonah's voice was halting with barely controlled laughter. "Not at all."

"Oh..." For a moment, the confused look sat on Marty's face as he contemplated the silvery wrapper. And then, suddenly, another smile broke out. "Hell yeah!"

Right, so maybe not the best source of advice.

Cyrus was going to have to think.

**_Wednesday, 3:36 PM_ **

"What the fuck, did the school spring for the lowest bandwidth possible?" Jonah held up his phone as far as his arm would allow, searching for the sweet spot that might give him an extra bar or two of wifi. "There's too many fucking people on this—oh, shit, yeah, here we go."

With a stupidly satisfied grin, he settled back into the cushions of the common room couch and offered one of his earbuds to Cyrus before pressing play. 

"What episode are we on?" Cyrus asked, letting his head fall to rest on Jonah's shoulder as the older teen set his phone down to rest in his lap. The starting sequence of the quirky British sitcom they had both become unreasonably obsessed with began to blare in his ear as his best friend adjusted the volume. 

"Nine," Jonah's voice lowered to a whisper, as if they were in a theater surrounded by a wider audience instead of wasting time in the common room while they waited for Gus to finish tutoring a freshman. "I think we're almost done with this season."

"Fuck foreign shows and their low episode counts," Cyrus muttered as he shook his head, taking the moment to shift even closer to Jonah's side as the taller teen shifted so they could be more comfortably pressed together. He may have gotten over his childish crush on his best friend, but Jonah had, if anything, become even more comfortable with physical affection since Cyrus's coming out, and—personal space and decorum be damned—he wasn't going to pass up a chance to cuddle. Especially if TJ... especially if TJ wasn't around to fulfill his needs.

Which... he wasn't. TJ hadn't shown up at school all week—Cyrus had even tricked Mr. Tandy into checking the attendance records just to make sure.

Nothing.

Which made it very difficult to follow Marty's advice—again, not something he thought he'd ever be worried about, but what was he supposed to do? It was the only sort of solid advice anyone had been able to give him, and, even if Marty didn't know all the details, Cyrus still felt too confused to ignore it. He wanted to talk to TJ—at least, he was pretty sure he wanted to talk to him—but he didn't even know where the older teen was. Was he still in the hospital? If so, which one? It's not like Cyrus could just call up all the major hospitals and ask if they had a TJ Kippen in their psych ward—he was pretty sure there were laws against that sort of thing. Was TJ at home? Would his parents even let Cyrus come to visit? Did his parents even know who he was—oh god, did TJ's parents hate him as much as Kira did?

He'd tried to call, to send a text, but... _Please stop._ Whenever he thought about his last message to TJ, the pit in his stomach doubled in size. What if that was how he truly felt? What if Marty's words had simply deluded him into thinking that he could handle a bipolar boyfriend, while, in reality, he was going to freak out as soon as it became real? What if his gut reaction was always going to be to push TJ away—it was still there, in the back of his mind, the voice telling him that TJ was unhealthy and dangerous and that he needed to stay far, far away.

TJ didn't deserve that, did he?

No.

So what the fuck was he supposed to do?

"Do you think Carla's gonna snap?" Jonah whispered, the barest movement of his head jostling Cyrus from his thoughts.

"Oh, uh..." It took him a moment for him to realize what Jonah was even referring to—the red-haired woman pacing around the set on the cracked screen in front of him looked like she was truly about to explode. When had that happened? Carla was always so calm and collected. "I sort of hope so. Jeremy deserves it."

Even though he knew that nothing had changed, the urge to check his phone began to bubble away in the back of his mind. Maybe TJ had texted him. Or sent another picture. Or liked one of his photos on Instagram. Maybe he'd just been too distracted to feel the buzz against his leg—unlikely, but there was always a chance!

But no. Cyrus peeled himself away from Jonah's side, taking out the earbud so he could focus on confirming what he already knew to be true. TJ hadn't sent him anything, hadn't tried to call. There were no missed messages, no notifications. He let out a rueful scoff as he realized his father had never followed up after the whole 'are you actually gay? let's not tell your mother' thing. In fact, the only person he had unread messages from was Leslie Goodman—last name still-unchanged after the divorce to keep up appearances—with a new, still-silenced one coming in just as Cyrus's eyes skated over her name.

He really should have blocked her number ages ago, but... he truly was bad at updating things on his phone. And there was a perverse level of comfort in keeping track of the messages she sent him—made him feel like she was less likely to surprise him on his doorstop some random night.

_Mom: I just had a wonderful talk with Rabbi Greenbaum. He reminded me that mistakes and failures are a part of every life, but that guilt and forgiveness are as well. That forgiveness helps keep us together, and together we can handle anything._

While he was reading, another message came through, almost as if his mom somehow knew she'd caught his attention.

_Mom: Are you coming to Shabbat on Friday? Your father said you might be there. Love you. I hope to see you, my lovely son._

It shouldn't have felt like such a punch in the gut. It shouldn't have. But it did. Because it almost... if he squinted hard enough, it nearly looked like the one thing his mother had never, ever given him.

An apology. Or the start of one, at least.

Guilt. She had mentioned guilt—she never, ever admitted guilt. Never admitted she had done anything wrong. It was always her right as a mother, always just an attempt to keep him safe, make him successful, protect him from himself. Never anything she needed to feel _guilty_ about. Even if it was hidden in someone else's words, in coded language, it still...

If she was ready to start talking about guilt, did that mean he needed to be ready to start with... forgiveness?

That was...

And maybe it was because the words were just right, or maybe it was because he desperately wanted just the smallest touch of guidance, or maybe it was because he still couldn't get Marty's words out of his fucking head, or maybe it was because he hadn't stopped thinking about Amber's dad since Sunday night, or maybe... as he stared at his screen, nerves screaming with energy, Cyrus could feel five months of walls built by radio silence start to crack and crumble.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure that Jonah hadn't looked up from Carla's berating of Jeremy.

He reread the messages once, twice, ignoring the dozens of unread words from the past few months. She wanted to see him—he knew she would want to see him, that wasn't in question, but it wasn't a demand. It was barely a request. A hope—a softness to the term that felt so different than what he was used to. So the opposite of what he got from his father.

His father. He wondered how much his father had told her, how much they talked in this buildup to a family Shabbat. Did she know about the bribe? Did she know he'd threatened to bring his boyfriend? Did she know...

_Cyrus: ~~Ill be there on Fri. I dont want you to be surprised but i met someone. Dont get upset but its probably not what you were expecting. His~~_

Cyrus's eyes danced over the words a few times, finger hovering over the send button. The spite that had fuelled him when he'd texted his dad the previous week was quieter, but...

No. That wasn't right. He didn't want to invite a conversation with her. He didn't want to ease her into it, or sound like he was apologizing for being who he was. If Leslie Goodman wanted Cyrus to begin to accept her for who she was—if that was supposed to even be in the realm of possibility—she was going to have to start by doing the same for him. 

If she couldn't even do that...

_Cyrus: Mom im gay. Sorry if youre surprised or disappointed. I'll see you on fri._

For a moment, his fingers almost completed the message with _'I love you'_ —muscle memory from so many years of default responses coming back strong. But he stopped himself. Not out of spite, or anger, or anything like that. It was just one step too far. He needed to hold onto that gossamer thread of defiance or there was a distinct fear that his whole person—who he'd built himself up to be over the past few months—would just fall apart.

She didn't get to have that.

She didn't deserve that victory.

But he'd broken the silence—something he immediately began to debate whether it was more than she deserved—and so all he could do was wait. Wait, and she how she would respond.

When she did, it came in three messages. Short, fast, and in quick succession.

_Mom: My son, I love you and I will always love you_

_Mom: Know that I am always here for you_

_Mom: And yes, I will see you on Friday._

Oh.

Right.

"Hey... Cy, are you okay?" Jonah was poking at his shoulder, catching the tail end of his attempt to wipe away a tear before its fall could lead to more questions. It was just... he felt so confused and also so fucking _relieved,_ even if he'd told himself that it didn't matter—that it couldn't matter—it _did_. It really fucking did.

Cyrus hated that it mattered so fucking much, because it didn't erase everything she had done to him and it didn't undo the shitty way his dad had responded and it was such a fucking surprise, but he couldn't get his heart to stop dancing in his chest.

Because... fuck.

"Yeah, man," Cyrus shook his head, taking a deep breath in hopes of getting his pulse and his nerves and his gut all back under control. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?" 

"Yeah, no, I just... don't worry about it," Cyrus forced a smile, which wasn't as difficult as he felt it should have been, and settled back onto the couch beside his best friend. He didn't need Jonah to know. He didn't need Jonah to worry.

Depending on how things went on Friday, maybe he'd tell him afterward.

"Okay," Jonah grinned, soft and unsure, but trusting. Cyrus's smile softened as he accepted the earbud from his friend.

The threat of tears finally ended a minute or so later, his heart finally reaching a normal rate with about five minutes left in the episode as he let himself settle into Jonah's side. Things just felt... strange and uncomfortable, but strangely and uncomfortably okay. 

Which is why it shouldn't have come as too much of a surprise when Principal Metcalf came stalking into the room, dress shoes clicking against the polished linoleum floor as he made a bee-line directly toward the shelves in the back of the room. 

"I knew it..." There was a scrambling, scratching sound as Metcalf seemed to struggle with something on one of the shelves, enough time passing for Cyrus to catch the concerned eyes of Buffy and Andi as the two girls slowly stood from the table where they’d been studying. 

"Is there a problem, Mr. Metcalf?" Buffy's voice broke through the stunned silence that had fallen around Metcalf's muttering, breaking the spell of the older man’s focus.

"You could say that, Mrs. Driscoll," the principal turned, hefting a small black box in one hand, two antennas pointing askew as he tossed a cable back to the shelves behind him. "I seem to remember telling you that you could not have one of these," he brandished the modem as his voice strained with barely withheld authoritarian outrage, "in this room. So who, may I ask, overrode that decision and decided to hook into the network for the teacher's lounge!"

In the tense moments of silence that accompanied the incensed glare their principal was giving Buffy, Cyrus saw a few of the other students slip out the door.

That was probably smart.

"That was me sir."

At Buffy’s response, a few more teens took their chance to disappear into the foyer, not taking a moment to look back at Andi grabbing Buffy’s shoulder and stepping forward.

“No—sir, it wasn’t her idea. I—“

“That’s enough, Ms. Mack—Ms. Driscoll? My office. Now.”

Perhaps that would have been all, with Buffy nodding solemnly and Andi glancing at her friend with a guilty stare. Perhaps a browbeating and a detention would have been enough to satisfy Metcalf’s need to control everything. Perhaps things would have been okay—if not for the fact that the couple who had been ‘cuddling’ on the futon decided to use that exact moment to try to escape.

“And I will be...” Cyrus watched as the squeaking of bedsprings seemed to register in Metcalf’s ear, as his attention was drawn, however briefly, to the other corner of the room. The corner that Buffy had purposefully positioned herself to keep out of his sight. The corner where Sarah Diaz was unsuccessful trying to roll herself off of Joey Ritter’s lap. “Jesus Christ...”

“Sir,” Andi was the first to respond, “it’s not what—“

“Are you mocking me!” As the principal’s enraged voice filled the room, the last of the other students—including Sarah and Joey—disappear like insects scurrying from a light. Cyrus and Jonah probably could have done the same. Probably should have done the same. Probably should have escaped, instead of rising slowly from the couch to go stand behind Andi and Buffy and Libby. But Cyrus had come to accept his habit of making bad decisions.

“No, sir—“

“Do you have no respect for me! For this school!” Everyone at Jefferson had seen Metcalf upset—it was practically a right of passage to be yelled at for some minor infraction—but Cyrus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen the older man so red in the face. Eyes practically bulging, fingers constantly looking for something to squeeze or point at—if he had been at all physically imposing, it might have been truly terrifying.

Luckily, Metcalf was barely taller than Cyrus.

Even still, he wasn’t sure how Buffy was able to stand there, tall and stoic and silent, and withstand the wrath being directed at her. It was inspiring. And also scary as hell.

“You asked for a place for students to rest! To take naps! Not to turn my school into a brothel!”

“If—I can explain everything, sir,” Buffy’s voice was astonishingly measured—though out of the corner of his eye, Cyrus could see her slowly flexing and clenching a fist by her waist. “If we could just—“

“Really! You think you can explain everything?” Metcalf’s face shifted until it was almost a smile—angry and disbelieving, but still almost a smile. “The wifi network? Hmm? The chaos? Breaking into the school?” He paused momentarily, eyeing them as if waiting for some sort of response, some sort of confirmation. “What’s next? Should I expect a fight club by next month! A place to do drugs in the basement? Have you forgotten this is a school! I'm not running a hippy commune here! We're not at some liberal arts college! This is a high school! There are rules and expectations! There will be consequences for your actions!”

With a shaking finger raised in exclamation, he eyed all five of them before shaking his head—as if he’d expected them to fall to their knees and beg forgiveness. As if Buffy's resolute glare was only making him more unhinged.

"And this!" Metcalf’s voice rose in pitch as he glanced away for a second, just long enough to look over his shoulder at the back wall with a disbelieving scoff. "Don’t think I’ve missed this... epitome of crap! Enough!"

Words and a bit of spittle were still flying from their principal’s mouth, echoing around the room as he turned back to the five of them. But Cyrus's attention had shifted. Even as the implosion of rage continued in front of him, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the wall. His wall. _Their_ wall. The wall Metcalf had just...

“Out! All of you out! Get your things—the common room is closed! And you will all—“ he jabbed his finger angrily at the five of them, “—be spending your weekend repainting this glorified graffiti a nice, clean white!”

"No!" The speed with which Metcalf's head snapped to focus his glare on Cyrus would have been concerning if the younger teen could focus on anything other than the fact that the principal had just insulted his work. Had just insulted TJ. Had just insulted _his fucking boyfriend._ "We're not touching the mural!"

"Mural?" The older man let out a surprised, almost disturbingly delighted chuckle. "Is that what you call this? My dog could vomit something better."

"It's a tribute to Jackson Pollock!" Cyrus was shouting, and he was okay with that. There was a fire burning away at his chest and he was _not_ used to it, but _fuck Metcalf_. How dare he? How dare he say something like that when he has no fucking idea... "Are you blind? Or do you just not know shit about art!"

"Watch your language, Mr. Goodman!"

“I've got nothing more to say—we’re not touching the wall!”

Cyrus glanced over at his side—and in a moment of clarity realized that, fuck, he hadn't meant to speak for all of his friends—only to feel a wave of relief as he watched Buffy and Andi give supportive nods.

"Please, let's all cool down for a minute," with a surprisingly calm, soothing voice, Jonah stepped between Cyrus and their principal, acting as a wall that Cyrus was all too happy to glare through. "Have a heart—we love that mural, sir."

"You love it! How wonderful,” Metcalf scoffed. “You can tell me all about it during your week of detention. Both of you."

He gestured between Cyrus and Jonah. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Cyrus had never been given detention before.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he really didn't care.

"You—!"

"Be careful of what you're about to say, Mr. Goodman." The principal’s glare grew harsher, colder, doing absolutely nothing to quench the fire raging in Cyrus’s mind. "It doesn't have to just be a week."

Bring it.

"Please, sir," Andi's voice, soft and unexpected, knocked a bit of sense into Cyrus as she stepped between him and Metcalf. Just enough to keep the invective his mind had just come up with from spilling out of his throat. "The mural... Jonah's right. We all love the mural. We all put our hearts into that mural. That's why it was so important that we got your permission to do it—we wanted something that represented all of us."

Cyrus had never pegged Metcalf as the type of man who rolled his eyes, but the dismissive gesture did feel in character as he did it. Still, he was surprised to see the principal's glare softening, his shoulders dropping just a little as Andi pleaded their case.

"We put all the colors like that for a reason," Andi explained with such earnestness that Cyrus almost forgot that she was lying out of her ass. That her only involvement in the mural painting had been delivering the paint. "The way they mix, but still stand out and stay strong? It symbolizes us—it symbolizes our differences. Black, White, Asian... gay and straight, abled and disabled. It shows that we can all live together. That we can mix, even if we're different."

If he hadn't been there at the mural's creation himself—albeit, incredibly distracted—Cyrus would have had no doubt that the whole thing had been Andi's idea. That her artist's statement was the truth. That it had nothing to do with him and TJ fucking around and hooking up in the empty school. She was just that good.

Even good enough to get Metcalf to believe her.

While Metcalf visibly deflated in front of them, as the tension in the room started to dissipate, Cyrus couldn't keep his eyes away from the mural for long. They weren't going to repaint it. They weren't. The physical evidence of one of the best fucking moments of his life was not about to erased because of some closedminded... There was no way he was going to let that happen. He didn't care what Metcalf planned on threatening, they weren't going to do it. And it seemed like maybe their principal was starting to realize that.

And then, Andi went for the kill.

"And of all colors, you want to paint it white?"

Apparently, even Metcalf couldn't withstand a perfectly played race card.

"Fine." Metcalf was frustrated, it was made obvious by the jumpy nodding of his head as he dragged his hand over his mouth. "Fine! Your... 'mural' can stay. But!" He held up a finger, glaring at the five of them with cold, merciless eyes. "The closing of the common room is not up for debate! This little experiment is over. You have five minutes to get your things out of here and then I am locking the door behind me."

As if to prove his point, Metcalf dug into his pocket, pulling out a single large key as he began to step toward the door. Then, with a final glare and a quick tap on his watch, he was out the door, leaving the five of them in the disconcerting quiet of the otherwise empty room.

A quiet that lasted all of ten seconds.

"Holy shit," Jonah was the first to break the silence.

"Breathe—Buffy, Breathe." For just a moment, Cyrus was worried that he would turn around find Buffy crumbling as all of her work fell to ruin around her. That she would be crushed, and teary, and in need of support he wasn't sure he was equipped to offer.

He wasn't worried for very long.

"I am going to _break_ that sad little man." Buffy's words were accentuated with a sudden snap emanating from her clenched fist, and Cyrus watched as the two halves of a shattered yellow pencil tumbled to the ground. "I'm seriously going to kill him."

"Come on now, Buff, let's just... just breathe," Andi's worried attempt at soothing was shaken off as Buffy took an aggressive step toward the exit.

"Oh, I can breathe just fine," Buffy muttered, glare boring through the heavy white door like a laser. "But I can think of one person who's about to find it difficult real soon."

"Woah, hey," Jonah took a wide step to fall into Buffy's warpath, hands up with an overly-pleasant smile on his face. "Maybe Andi's right. How 'bout we cool it with the murder threats, yeah? I mean, there's gotta be some way we can fix this. Some way that, y'know, isn't based on a felony. Right?"

"Killing him would be easier."

"Would it? Would it really?"

It took a frighteningly long time for Buffy's glare to relent. For her shoulders to sag and her posture to soften, and for her to allow Andi to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"We'll figure it out, Buff. I promise we will."

"We can organize a protest!" Libby signed, smiling with a sudden glint in her eye. "You know I'm amazing at protests! And it's been way too long since I pissed off the school board."

"You really think we can shame _him_ into changing his mind?"

"Fuck yeah!" Libby nodded. "That's what protesting is all about!"

"Yeah! And I can make some of my sculptures to—"

"I think your little 'Miss America' speech was a good enough start," Buffy muttered, shaking her head. "But fine, whatever, we'll try it your way—for now. It's gonna suck, though. We're going to need help. From, like... everyone."

She glanced around the notably empty room with a sigh, disappointment playing out plainly across her features. It was almost impressive how quickly everyone else had been able to clear out of the room without Metcalf noticing. Solidarity had never been one of Jefferson's strong suits. 

"We'll do it," Cyrus responded, eyes shifting back to the mural behind them. At the very least, getting Marty and Gus to help wouldn't be too difficult. "Anything you need, we're here for the common room."

"Yeah..." Buffy sighed. But then she was nodding, holding up a fist in confirmation. A moment later she was being echoed by Andi, Libby, and Jonah. "For the common room."

Cyrus held up his fist as well, eyes not leaving the mural. Metcalf had shown them that they could make him back down.

Now they just had to figure out how to do it again.

"For the common room!"

**_Friday, 6:37 PM_ **

The sky was a pleasing mix of deep orange and light purple as Cyrus stepped off the bus around the corner from the Congregation Schaarai Zedek synagogue. The chill wind swirling around him smelled of fallen leaves and freshly-baked bread as he shoved his phone into his coat pocket and looked up at the familiar building.

It had been six months since he'd been to a service, since he'd stepped foot on the property, and it would be a bold-faced lie to say that a thick layer of guilt wasn't sitting heavy in his stomach. He stared at the heavy wooden doors from across the street, trying to gain his bearings, trying to figure out how this was going to go. From where he stood, he could see small groups of adults clad in thick, warm black coats and suit jackets, chatting between themselves on the lawn in front of the building. There was no way he'd be able to make it to the doors without being seen—without being stopped and greeted and maybe, most likely interrogated.

A stream of excuses began to trickle through his mind, reasons to leave before anyone had spotted him. The family atmosphere built on people he viewed with suspicion. The way the Rabbi's wife always messed with his hair. The many, many inevitable questions.

Where had he been these past few months?

'Oh, y'know. Just being a gay, disaffected youth. How 'bout you?'

Had he done anything for Yom Kippur?

It was only with the most delicious irony that he realized he'd somehow observed the holy day completely on accident—apologizing for his fuckups to Iris and getting an apology in return. Maybe all those years of ceremony and tradition had burrowed deeper into his personality than he'd realized. Who knew?

He still wasn't planning on keeping Kosher.

His strongest excuse was the person who was probably waiting for him right inside those large wooden doors. Leslie Goodman. He still hadn't been able to decide if he'd made the right decision by responding to her message. By coming out to her. There was a part of him—a really loud part of him—that was too insistent on scolding him for having a moment of weakness. That yes, it had gone well, but _so what?_ He was just so... conflicted.

He wanted to run away and go have dinner with Amber. He wanted to go inside and figure out what the fuck was going on with his parents. He wanted... he wanted...

He wanted to eat. The congregation's usual Shabbat meal was nothing to write home about, but he was starving.

Walking across the street and up onto the sidewalk in front of the synagogue, he could already feel eyes on him. He recognized some faces from afar—Mr. Blustein, Mrs. Holtzman with her older son, and Mr. and Mrs. Freedman had all been close with his family—and even with his head down and hood up, he knew they would be able to recognize him. It's not like he'd changed so much in six months.

Though, maybe his mind was just being overdramatic. The fear felt appropriate, but no one called out to him as he dodged the small groups catching up before the went inside. No one grabbed his shoulder to stop him from passing without saying 'hi.' In fact, he was starting to wonder if maybe he _had_ changed that much, when—

"Cyrus!" A powerful, kindly voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he reached the bottom of the entryway steps. "So happy you could join us today!"

Rabbi Greenbaum was standing at the door, smiling down at him with a tight, proud smile. He was an older man, skinny—even compared to Cyrus—and taller than seemed strictly necessary. But Cyrus knew better than the let appearances deceive him—the Rabbi was lively and strong and a bit of a force of nature. He could recall countless mornings and evenings as a child being terrified by the deep, powerful voice of the older man giving a sermon, and he'd been a bit of a pain leading up to Cyrus's _Bar Mitzvah_ , but the man's kindness radiated off of him, and it was clear that everyone loved him because of it.

And he gave unreasonably good hugs.

"Yup," Cyrus looked up slowly as he neared the older man's spot on the top step. "Just can't stay away, I guess."

"Oh, look at you," without much warning, Cyrus found himself being pulled into a warm, tight, full-body squeeze that somehow knocked down some of the anxiety that had been building in his stomach. "You're looking good, young man. Keeping busy?"

"Oh, y'know," Cyrus shrugged, shutting down his mind's sarcasm before he accidentally let something stupid slip, "just been busy with school. Junior year and all."

"Of course, of course," the Rabbi nodded, patting at Cyrus's shoulder with a knowing grin. "Now remind me again, you're a student at..."

"Jefferson," Cyrus offered, taking a moment to glance around inside the doors. He'd yet to see a sign of either of his parents, and he really did not want to be surprised by their arrival.

"Right, yes, of course, I knew that," the older man insisted, even as his grin gave away that he'd had no idea. "Jefferson... Oh, right! I believe that's where my nephew is planning to go next year!"

"Oh, really?" Cyrus hoped he sounded engaged, but this wasn't really a conversation he was looking to have. Not that it was an especially bad one, but... his mind was elsewhere.

"Oh yes. Jeremy's very excited to join their soccer team—won't shut up about it, to be honest, so I have to assume you're pretty good!"

"Yeah, my, uh, friend's actually on the soccer team," Cyrus shrugged. He knew they tended to win more often than not but he'd never actually been to one of Marty's games. 

Oh shit, was he a bad friend?

"Wonderful! Oh, I just had a thought—maybe he could shadow you one day? Have you show him around, maybe meet your friend? I'm sure he would appreciate that."

Cyrus took a half step back, pausing his surveillance of the surrounding people to give Rabbi Greenbaum a raised eyebrow. That was... an unexpected request.

"Are you sure?" Cyrus asked, letting his confusion play obviously in his voice. "I mean... if he wants. But I'm sure there are better, uh... ambassadors that he could choose from." Like athletes, or student council, or people who went to temple more often, or... anyone, really. He didn't even know the Rabbi had a nephew.

"Nonsense!" The older man laughed, clapping Cyrus's shoulder as he leaned forward. "With all your mother's told us about your achievements, I can't think of anyone more qualified!"

Cyrus took another half step back, looking the Rabbi up and down and getting only a soft smile in return.

"Everything my..."

What exactly did that... what could his mom possibly have been able to say about him? How could she...

"Nothing to be embarrassed about. You know how moms get," the Rabbi waved his hand through the air dismissively. "She'll brag to any captive audience she can get!"

"What has she said... recently?"

"Oh, I don't remember the specifics," the older man dismissed. "Only good things, though, don't you worry." Strangely enough, that did make Cyrus feel a bit better. Good things meant they probably weren't _real_ things—hard to brag about your son breaking into a stranger's houseboat with his mentally ill boyfriend for a night of romance. If his mom wanted to lie to keep up the illusion that everything was perfect in the Goodman family, that was her issue—and a lot less stressful than the idea that she had somehow kept tabs on him the past few months.

"Right, well... speaking of, do you know where my mom is?" Cyrus glanced over his shoulder again to see that most of the people on the lawn had started making their way inside—his parents still nowhere to be found. "I'm supposed to be meeting my parents."

"Yes, I believe I saw her heading toward the garden just before you arrived," the Rabbi nodded. "In fact, if you won't mind going to get her, I think some are antsy to get started tonight."

"Yeah, sure, I, uh... I'm sure we'll be in in a minute," Cyrus nodded, slowly backing away as he stepped into the relative warmth of the entryway. "Thanks so much."

"Of course. And don't forget what I said!" the Rabbi called as Cyrus turned to head toward the garden on the side of the synagogue. "I'll have my brother reach out to your parents in a few weeks!"

Cyrus just nodded, throwing back a thumbs-up before disappearing down a hallway. He doubted anything would come of the Rabbi's request—if anything did, he'd burn that bridge when he got to it. All he cared about at that moment was finding a way to ignore the twisting anxiety in his stomach, fetching his parents, and getting this over with as soon as possible.

It still wasn't technically too late to run. It still wasn't...

The air was still when he stepped outside under the winding branches of the arching bougainvillea. The side garden was a simple one, a stone path winding in a circle around a lazily burbling fountain, shrubs and flowers that weren't quite withstanding the cold autumn weather sat in planters and pots and a few hanging baskets. Simple, but beautiful. Peaceful. There were a few benches, quiet places to sit and contemplate your faith—or, as he'd done many times as a child, use as a hiding place when his parents started arguing—with one especially secluded in the back corner. That was where he found his mom, wrapped in an expensive-looking maroon overcoat with a small, placid smile on her face.

"Cyrus, honey, I was worried you weren't going to make it." Leslie Goodman's voice was serene, and confident, and not the least bit wary of the fact that she was talking to her son for the first time in six months. Even as a smile spread across her lips and she began to stand, there was an elegance—a control—about her. Just like there always had been.

It was disconcerting. Just like it had always been.

"Yeah, the uh..." Cyrus shrugged, not quite looking his mom in the eye as she gathered her bag from the bench, "the bus was late."

"I don't know how I feel about you taking the buses, darling," his mom shook her head, lips forming a tight line as she tucked a piece of light brown hair behind her ear. "You never know what kind of person might get on one of those things... try to mug you. Or worse. It's just not safe like it used to be."

"Well, it's not like I can afford a car," he knew better than to point out that he'd been traveling mostly by bus for six months with no issues—other than being late—but the twisting in his stomach refused to let him keep quiet. It wasn't all anxiety. There was something else there, too. "Pretty sure walking would have just made me even later, so..."

He glanced up, just in time to see her eyes narrow briefly as she tugged on the hem of her coat. Sarcasm, or 'getting smart with her,' had always been expressly forbidden in his mom's house. It was one of the few things he could never seem to avoid getting in trouble for. She always said it made him sound stupid and unappreciative, and he could see the tension build in her jaw as she got ready to repeat those very words.

"Well, you're here now," she looked to the side for a second. "We should probably head inside before they start without us, no?"

Well. That was unexpected.

With a quick nod, Cyrus's mom started walking toward the center of the garden, pausing as she'd passed him to glance over her shoulder and beckon once again. "Come on, dear."

Cyrus's feet didn't want to move. It wasn't just that his mom had passed up an opportunity to scold him—though that in and of itself was practically newsworthy—it was just... everything. The tension between his shoulders, the wide berth his mom had given as she walked past, the fact that she hadn't immediately started interrogating him. He hadn't really believed that this would end up as one of those hugging, crying apologies so often depicted in the Hallmark channel movies that kept him up on sleepless nights. But this just felt... wrong.

"Aren't we waiting for Dad?" His mind was searching for something to fill the space, to delay, and that was where it fell. That had been part of the agreement after all. This was a _family_ outing.

"Oh. He's not going to make it, dear. Now, let's get inside—it's quite chilly tonight, isn't it?"

"Wait," Cyrus didn't move, except to eye her with suspicion, "why isn't he..."

Had she done something? Had she told his dad not to come? Or made him change his mind?

The sky had darkened quickly between Cyrus's arrival and when he found his mother, and as she turned to face him with a soft sigh, the guide lights along the edge of the path began to flicker on. It really was a beautiful scene, one he suddenly felt the urge to share with someone very different than the woman standing in front of him.

"You know how your father is, Cyrus. Schedules and following through aren't exactly his strong suits," with a small, measured laugh his mother shook her head. "He did say he wasn't sure that you would be comfortable with him being here—did something happen between you two?"

And—oh. Cyrus could feel his face heating up as his mom looked at him with an appraising eye. His stomach lurched. He knew his dad well enough to read between the lines of that statement. Cyrus's comfort level was the last thing on his dad's mind.

"No," Cyrus shook his head, taking a moment to take in the look his mom was giving him before deciding what to say next. It was a careful look. Appraising and removed and exactly as clinical as it had always been. Honestly, at this point, what was the benefit of lying? "I think he's just... not ecstatic with the idea of having a gay son."

"Oh, darling..."

It's not that hugs from his mom were an uncommon occurrence. Barring the past six months, his mom gave him a hug pretty much every time he left the house. It was just that, all those hugs always felt more obligatory than meaningful. It was weird to have his mom hugging him in what he assumed was an attempt to be comforting. 

It felt wrong that his instinct was to lean into it.

"Come on, let's forget about your father," there wasn't any change in his mom's voice, it didn't sound any more supportive than normal, but there was some part of his brain that shivered comfortably as she squeezed his shoulders. That told him to wrap his arms around her back.

That just wanted his parents back.

His stomach lurched again, bubbling, not with anxiety, but with something else. Something warm.

"No." Cyrus was disappointed at how much willpower was required to extract himself from his mom's grasp, because _fuck_ , he shouldn't be that weak. Because without his dad, the deal was off. He was free to leave. He'd done his part. "No, this is... I should go."

If his dad wasn't going to be there, even as uncomfortable as the thought was, he had no reason to be there either. He didn't need a night alone with his mom. He didn't want a night alone with his mom. He didn't.

“Excuse you?”

It took a moment for Cyrus to realize what had just happened while his mom struggled to get her reaction back under control. He had said ‘no.’ Without even thinking, he had refused her. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he had done that before—it was one of the main reasons that leaving her house in the middle of the day when she was at work was the only way he’d be able to escape—and it had always required so much internal conflict.

“No. I don’t want to go in.” He repeated himself. This... this was almost easy.

"Let’s not worry about your father," his mom voice sounded tight as her back straightened, adding another inch to her height. "Don't let him ruin tonight, he just needs time."

"No, it'll be... weird." Suddenly, the idea of sharing prayers and a meal with all of those people felt draining. The warmth in his gut began to calm as his mother's eyes flew wide, and then stayed there, burning at a comfortable heat. The thought of spending hours with his mom without his dad as a buffer suddenly sounded like his worst nightmare.

Why had he ever agreed to this?

“It will not be ‘weird,’” his mom shook her head dismissively. “What’ll be weird is you disappearing before Rabbi Greenbaum even starts the prayers. And I won’t be the one explaining to everyone why you've suddenly vanished.”

Cyrus eyed his mother’s posture, taking in the stiff back, the tight shoulders, the way her hands were holding motionless in front of her stomach. So controlled. It made his chest tighten, brought back memories of moments just after a mistake. Just before the yelling started.

What was she holding back?

“Tell them whatever you want, it doesn’t really matter to me.” It felt weird to respond to his mother like that. Weird, but right.

“That’s not—“ his mother sighed, glancing down toward her feet for a moment before looking back up with a tight smile. “Cyrus, darling, there’s someone I want you to meet tonight. Someone I think you’ll... very much like.”

The change of subject caught Cyrus off guard. This was unexpected—in a night of confusing moves by his mother, this one was the weirdest. She hated it when he made new friends.

“Who?” Cyrus could feel his features twisting in confusion. Who could she possibly want him to meet? Everyone in the congregation either knew him since he was in diapers, or was a child themself.

“Well,” he watched her smile grow a bit larger, “I’m sure you remember the Steeger's?” She waited as he slowly nodded—of course he remembered the Steeger’s, they were the richest family in the congregation. It was hard not to remember then when you could see their name on donated buildings and art installations all across town.

Also, they had way too many kids, and Cyrus had been forced to interact with at least five of them.

“Their youngest son, Zachary, is visiting home from his first semester at MIT,” his mother put an unnecessary amount of emphasis on each letter as she spelled out the school. “You remember, the boy who did ice skating?”

Cyrus did not particularly recall which Steeger was Zachary. They all looked incredibly similar, even for a family—curly dark hair, light blue eyes, pale skin and surprisingly tall.

“Why... I mean, no—that’s great for him, but I’m gonna head out,” he shook his head, taking the first step to walk past his mother. “Nice to see you—“

“I think you’ll be very interested to hear that I have on good authority—directly from his mother’s mouth—that young Zachary is also... gay.”

Oh.

 _Oh._ Oh no. Cyrus glanced over his shoulder and took in the sight of his mother’s satisfied smile. The appraising stare she was giving him.

Right.

“No. Thanks, but I’m not—“

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, dear. I’ve had his mom talking you up since yesterday—he’s very excited to meet you.”

Cyrus shook his head, ignoring the phone suddenly vibrating in his pocket because this needed to be stopped _right away_. Before his mom got ideas in her head. Before he got dragged into something he desperately didn't want.

“I’m not interested in meeting anyone right now.”

“Don’t be stubborn, Cyrus, it’s such an unattractive quality,” his mother dismissed, voice suddenly acerbic as she held him with a stare. “Only a fool would pass up a chance like this! Come now, I made sure they would save us a seat next to them, I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

His mother’s words, her plan, her refusal to take no for an answer—it all felt uncomfortably familiar. This was not the first time his mom had tried to set him up with someone from the congregation. This was just the first time with a guy.

As he watched her tap her foot, hand on her hip as she waited for him to get moving, it suddenly clicked.

Of course she didn’t care that he was gay.

It didn’t change anything.

Not. One. Thing.

“What part of ‘no’ aren’t you getting?” He took another step back—he needed to go. Needed to get away. From her. The feeling in his gut started to swell up into his chest, into his throat.

“The part where I didn’t raise an idiot—Cyrus, I'm simply trying to help. Zachary is a nice boy—"

"You aren't listening to me—I'm not interested in meeting any 'nice boys'!"

"And why in the world would you say that?"

He could hear his mother's patience waning as her voice grew more strained, as her shoulders stiffened. It all felt so normal and at the same time so foreign, so very wrong. Arguing with his mom was not something he was very experienced in. It was why he favored ignoring her, keeping her away with the silent threat of going to the medical board with evidence of what she'd done. Arguing for himself was a skill he had only learned once he had moved in with Reed, once he'd become friends with Marty and Gus, once he'd met TJ. He didn't know how to win an argument against Leslie Goodman.

Maybe that's why he just went with the truth.

"Because I already have a boyfriend!"

He watched his mother's eyes widen just for a moment, and let himself relish in the fact that he had been able to catch her off guard. Let himself wonder if that was how she had looked the day she'd come home to an empty house and a note—composed by Amber—explaining exactly why she had better not come after him. And then she was closing her eyes, sucking in a deep breath, letting go of the tension that had been possessing her posture since he arrived.

And for a second, he let himself think he'd won.

And then she tugged at the hem of her coat, cleared her throat, and took a quick step toward him

"Okay, I think I've let this little game of teenage rebellion go on long enough." Before Cyrus could react, his mother was maneuvering him toward the doors with a vice-like grip on his upper arm. "We are going to inside, you are going to have a wonderful night talking to Zachary, and then you are coming home with me."

"Wha—" he struggled to yank his arm out of her grip, but he couldn't seem to get the leverage he needed—with the way his stomach was twisting at her voice, her actions, her tone... he felt completely off-balance. "Why the... why the fuck would I do that!"

"Because I am your mother, Cyrus, and I know what is best!" Even as she struggled to move the two of them a few feet closer to the door, her voice stayed calm and self-assured. "Regardless of whether you've cast me as some... some villain in your mind, I will not allow you to throw away such amazing opportunities!"

"Villain?" Cyrus's jaw dropped, agog. "You drugged me!" He was shouting, part of him even hoping that someone might hear them and come investigate. "You—you controlled every aspect of my life and that still wasn't enough! Was that what was 'best' for me?"

There was more surprise in her eyes, though Cyrus didn't let himself enjoy it. He was too scared to feel confident. Too angry to stay quiet.

"That was a... mistake," with a violent wrenching motion, he took advantage of her moment of hesitation to free himself from her grasp. "Cyrus! It was a lapse in judgment brought on by the stress of trying to raise a teenage boy all on my own! It doesn't change the fact that I love you!"

He had already put a few shaky steps of space between the two of them when he stopped—he could have run. Could have jumped on a bus and disappeared into the night. There was a good chance she still didn't know where he was living.

But he stopped. It was all he could do to stand there, and stare at her in disbelief.

"You think that's... love?" He scoffed, but it was hollow. He could feel something shriveling in his chest.

Hope. 

He took another half-step back to maintain their separation.

"Wanting what's best for my son? Wanting to protect him from everything—including himself? Excuse me for not being perfect, Cyrus, but yes, I do. It was all for your own good!"

"You can't even bring yourself to apologize for what you did, can you?"

"For what I did? Cyrus—"

"You hurt me!" Screaming. He was screaming—so loud his voice would likely be hoarse in the morning. "You kept me from having a life for years! You did it for me? You don't give a shit about me! All you ever cared about was having a perfect child you could turn into whatever you wanted!"

His voice dropped as she looked at him, aghast. "That's not love."

"How dare you—do you have any idea how much I've sacrificed for you! You think you have any idea what love is? You? You're a child!"

"I'm sixteen! And yes! I do!" The fire was back. In his chest. In his heart. In his throat. It wanted to come out. It wanted to burn her. "I know it has nothing to do with controlling someone, forcing them to be what you want them to be!"

Cyrus's phone buzzed again, poking softly at his mind. _What the fuck was going on?_

"Is that right?" His mom's scoff was cold and humorless, just like her—how could he have ever let himself think she would come around? How could he have ever fooled himself into thinking she would accept guilt. "Well please—enlighten us."

It was time to fix his mistake.

Cyrus shook his head, pulling out his phone and turning to walk away. He could have answered her—the subject had been on his mind all week and it wouldn't have been that difficult to pull some dramatic response out of his ass. But there was no point in that conversation. He wasn't going to convince his mom of her wrongdoing with a moving speech, there was never going to be any tearful reconciliation. This was a distraction. A distraction he knew he no longer needed.

He had more important things to deal with.

_Kira: TJ disappeared. Is he with you?_

_Kira: No one can find him and he's not answering his phone._

_Kira: Please, Cyrus, we're all getting worried._

_Kira: If you have any idea where he is, please tell us._

"Where do you think you're going? Put that phone down, young man." He could hear his mom keeping pace with his steps as he read the messages from Kira, could hear her demanding voice, but the words didn't register in his mind. TJ. His mind flooded with nothing but TJ. He was missing—was this another episode? Was it something worse? Did he need help?

"You do not ignore me!" Cyrus was shaken from his thoughts by his mother's grip on his arm once again—and he couldn't fucking do this anymore. TJ needed him.

"Let go of me."

"You are my son, and you will listen to me when I am speaking to you!" She reached for his phone with an off-balance, easy to avoid lunge.

His stomach wasn't twisting wildly anymore—it had settled, acting as home to the fire burning at his throat and behind his eyes. 

"Let go of me, or I will call the police now and the medical board tomorrow morning."

"This again?" his mom scoffed—and he did not have time for this. For any of this. For fucked up parents, or threats, or fear. "Dear, I'm sure you were very proud of yourself when you came up with that, but it is not the threat you think it is. Now, this has gone on far enough—"

"Do you think I'm joking?" Cyrus resisted the urge to shove his mother away—he didn't feel like touching her. "If you touch me again, you will lose your license—they'll force you to stay away from me!"

"Assuming they believe you," her shrug was so callous, so uncaring as she released her grip on his arm. "Which, six months down the line? All I have to do is tell them you stole the drugs yourself—teenagers do stupid things after all. I wonder who they'll believe."

"Dad will support me—"

"Your father can't even show up to a Friday dinner, Cyrus. I think it's time to give up this charade."

For just a moment he faltered. Because she wasn't wrong and he hated her for that. But he really didn't have time for this.

Fuck her.

"Then my friends will support me," Cyrus insisted, fire burning away the anxiety trying to rear its ugly head in his chest. It didn't matter that he was fucking terrified of what she was saying. He wasn't going to let her win. "The school will support me—fuck, I'll go through it by myself if I have to."

"Darling. You'll lose."

"Maybe," Cyrus held his glare, refusing to listen to the voice inside his head telling him to shut up and accept his fate—because _fuck_ that he didn't have time to be that person anymore. "But if cops get involved, I can request to be emancipated and we can end up in front of a judge. And maybe you're right, Mom—" he put as much distaste into the word as he could manage, "—maybe she'll send me back to live with you. But you only have fourteen months before I turn eighteen, and I can make them the worst fourteen months of your life."

He wasn't entirely sure where these words were coming from—they were all things he'd thought about before in distinct, unjoined fears or phantasies. But he didn't exactly disagree with the sentiment.

"Or maybe I'll win," he continued. "And not only will I be legally free of you, but my 'threats' will be on the record—and you'll have nothing. Not even your job."

When his mother took a step back, he didn't smile. This felt wrong—he wasn't enjoying this. But he had to do it. TJ needed him and he couldn't be there for him if he was stuck with his mom.

"You don't scare me," he lied—and it was a good lie. A lie he wanted to be true. She looked like she wasn't sure whether to believe him. "It doesn't matter if I'm forced to live with you, you're never going to control me like that again. I won't let you."

"But Cyrus, I—"

"Don't. Love isn't about making someone perfect." Cyrus shook his head, taking a step back. And then another. He was done here. He needed to go. "Love is understanding someone so that you can accept them for who they are. It's helping them to become the person they want to be. It's wanting to be there for them, even when they've screwed up."

Love was sweet morning together that made you never want to leave a bed that was actively trying to damage your spine. It was forcing down their atrocious cooking with a smile. It was doing something stupid just so that you could see their smile. It was offering your home, and your words, and your hair gel—no strings attached.

"I do love you, dear."

Cyrus looked at his mom—at the way she was staring at him like she was worried he might explode, at the way she eyed his phone like it might give them both cancer—and shook his head.

"Mom... You're a terrible liar."

He heard her calling after him as he walked toward the synagogue doors. This wasn't the end—he knew better than to think his mom might just slink away and disappear from his life after a single confrontation. But he didn't care. There were more important things that he needed to deal with. More important people. And by the time he'd reached the entryway, her voice had fallen silent. He could hear prayers being recited in the other room, Rabbi Greenbaum's deep, powerful voice echoing through the open doors—leave it to Leslie Goodman to not want to create a scene.

She didn't follow him when he started running down the street.

_**Friday, 7:32 PM** _

TJ was missing—but that could mean anything. He could have been hiding in an alley somewhere, he could have hopped on a bus out of town—but there was nothing he could do if that was the case. He wanted to say that TJ wasn't the type of person to skip town, but he had to admit that, if the older teen was having an episode, he just didn't know. And that hurt. It hurt to open up their messages in the desperate hope that there was some missed text, some clue, only to see his own words staring back at him.

_Please stop. I can't handle it. Please._

Of course TJ hadn't reached out to him—he had every reason to think he'd been rejected. Why would he reach out to Cyrus if he'd wanted to escape Kira and his parents—people he knew still wanted him—when Cyrus had made it very clear that he didn't want to be involved?

He scrolled through their older messages, hoping for any hint as to where the other teen might be. He studied all the pictures, especially the ones he'd been too overwhelmed to even open, but there was nothing—all he got was a well-deserved bout of heartache as he studied an image of the Racoon dreaming about the Underdog.

Fuck.

Where the fuck could TJ have gone? If Kira— _she knows me like the back of her hand_ —couldn't find him, did that mean he didn't want to be found? Would he have just disappeared somewhere dark and secluded? Some hole-in-the-wall that only he knew how to find? That only...

That only he knew about.

A place where he could be alone. A place—

Cyrus was running before he even knew which way to go, pulling up his map to find that he was much closer to the park than he had realized. So he ran—lungs burning, legs clumsy, he ran as fast as he could force himself to go. He didn't have time for an Uber, he didn't have time to get on a bus, he didn't have time to worry about _'what if he isn't there.'_

Because he knew where TJ was. He could feel it in his chest. In his heart.

He didn't have time to doubt himself.

He could barely breathe by the time he reached the edge of the park—the night was pitch black, illuminated only by the yellow-orange glow of street lights, and Cyrus was going to die. His lungs were going to explode, his legs were about to fall off, his heart was going to beat out of his chest, and none of that mattered because the gate was unlocked. The chain that should have held it closed hung loosely around the wrought-iron bars, padlock open and dangling from one end. A memory flashed before his eyes, TJ kneeling down and fiddling with the lock before _pop_ holding up the key in satisfaction.

_"You coming?"_

TJ was here. He had to be. He—

The park was just as empty as the last time he'd been there. Colder now, though. Darker, too. Even the lamps lining the running path were unlit, but Cyrus couldn't have cared less. His heart was already beating in his throat—yes, from running far longer and harder than he had in years, but more so from thoughts of TJ. What TJ was doing. What he was going through, what would cause him to disappear to his hiding space like this.

Why he would want to be alone.

Why he felt the need to be alone.

So the dark could go fuck itself. All it did was make it difficult to find his way—make him almost miss the entrance to the hiking path, make him nearly trip over roots every five fucking seconds, make him have to double back because he passed the fork to the left. But he couldn't think about the dark. He couldn't think about the things hiding just out of view, or the fact that his phone was only a few minutes away from dying, or that he just barely remembered the path TJ had lead him down—over that log there, under that thicket of branches there. He couldn't think about any of that.

All he could think about was TJ. The older teen alone and in the dark. All he could think about was how much he needed to find him—how much he hoped TJ wanted to be found.

"TJ!" As the scruff and bushes started to feel more familiar, started reminding him of the path close to the structure, Cyrus called for the other teen with as much power as he could put behind his voice. "TJ!"

There was no response, but he wasn't about to let that stop him.

Before he realized it, Cyrus was stumbling into the clearing, tripping over one final root, but—there it was. With a moonless sky, it was little more than a wall of darkness a few feet ahead of him, but _fuck it_. His battery wasn't dead just yet.

"TJ!" As fast as his feet could carry him, as fast as his lungs could handle, Cyrus sprinted to the structure, nearly tripping over the edge of the jungle gym as he pushed to the center. He called out again, scanning his light in a wide circle—searching desperately for blond hair, for a hoodie, for that long elegant nose or outrageously large smile. For anything.

Please.

But he wasn't under the dome of the jungle gym, and he wasn't sitting at the bottom of any of the poles, and he wasn't sitting on any the swing, and— _where the fuck was he, he had to be there, he just fucking_ had _to._

Cyrus spun around again. And again. Heart in his throat, voice choked by his desperation to find him, stomach boiling with anxiety, and—

"TJ!"

On his third spin, slower, more desperate and more careful, he finally saw it. Almost invisible against the black of the woods, a bundle of black cloth shivering against one of the legs of the swingset. Only the smallest patch of pale skin was visible in the light—everything else covered by a baggy black jacket, hood pulled up to protect him from the light. To protect him from the world.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck, he found him.

"TJ," Cyrus was in kneeling in front of him before he got a chance to think, pressing his forehead to TJ's as he tossed his phone into the dirt next to them. He was here. He was okay—he was alive!

He felt TJ lean into him and his heart thrilled just for a moment. He heard the shaky breaths before he saw the light reflecting off the trails of tears running down the older teen's face, and—no. No, this was wrong. Why was there so much pain—so much hurt—in TJ's eyes? Why wasn't he smiling, why wasn't he responding, saying anything even as he leaned into Cyrus's touch? Why was he here, curled up, cold and alone?

Why...

"No, Teej, I'm here." Cyrus wasn't even sure of what he was saying, all he knew was that, in that moment, TJ needed him. He needed him. "It's okay. Baby, it's going to be okay—I promise."

He pressed his nose against TJ's, feeling his warmth seep into the other teen's skin—and he was fucking terrified. Scared that he was in over his head. That he wasn't what TJ needed, that there was nothing he could do as TJ's shaky breaths turned into sobs. But he couldn't. He couldn't give up. He couldn't think like that.

He didn't have time for that.

If TJ was here, he was going to stay with him until...

"You're not alone," the words tumbled from his lips, thick and wet with tears he wouldn't let himself shed—he needed to stay strong, he needed to be strong. For TJ. "I'm staying right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He watched as TJ glanced up, meeting his eyes for the first time—and felt his heart shatter. TJ looked so small. His stormy green eyes red and glassy as more and more tears fell, trailing down his cheeks and collecting at his chin. And Cyrus could see it—the desperation. Could feel the way TJ leaned into him as he wrapped his arm around the taller teen's shoulders. Could see it in his eyes—he didn't want to be doing this, he didn't want to be crying, he didn't want to be there, _please don't leave_!

It was terrifying because Cyrus didn't know what to do.

And it was terrifying because he knew that he would sit there, pressed to TJ's forehead while the other teen sobbed about everything and nothing, for the rest of his life if that's what TJ needed. 

It was terrifying because he would do anything for TJ.

It was terrifying because... realizing that was the calmest, most sure of himself that he'd felt all week.

"I'm right here," Cyrus repeated, just as much for himself as for the other teen. For TJ. For his boyfriend. For...

"You're not alone anymore."

And TJ's tears didn't stop, but that was okay. Because Cyrus was going to be there for him. No matter what. Because TJ wasn't alone anymore.

Neither of them were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. So sorry this one took so long to put out. I've had some very busy weeks, and this was a really difficult chapter to write. I still don't know if I did it justice, especially the confrontation between Cyrus and his mom, but I hope you enjoyed it. And I hope you were able to see what I was trying to achieve.
> 
> Only one more chapter for this one! I hope you're ready! I don't think it will take nearly as long to write.


	10. Minute by Minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it mean to be there for someone with a mental illness?
> 
> What does it mean to be there for someone?

**_Saturday, 9:53 AM_ **

He still wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing.

A voice inside his head told him that this was cruel, that it was a betrayal of TJ's trust, that he had no idea what he was doing.

He couldn't have agreed more with that last part.

Cyrus had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He hadn't known what he was doing the previous night when he sat with TJ for nearly an hour, holding him and muttering support and just _being there_. He hadn't known what he was doing when he was able to get TJ to stand up, when he helped his boyfriend take one step and then another and then another until they were finally out of the park and into a cab and into the apartment. He hadn't known what to do when TJ curled up on his bed before the front door had even closed, still not saying a word as he pulled the sheets around his shoulders.

He hadn't known what to do he as laid awake, a few inches away from his sleeping boyfriend, terrified to move lest he shatter the fragile, shaky sleep that TJ had fallen into only once he'd threaded his fingers through Cyrus's and squeezed his hand hard enough to make it go numb.

The only thing he knew was that he was going to do whatever he could for the blond still sleeping in his bed. He was going to do... anything. Because even when he felt stressed, and anxious, and confused—all while TJ slept beside him, cheeks stained with tears, hair flat and greasy, lip chewed raw—Cyrus couldn't stop his heart from fluttering every time he looked at the other teen.

So that was why he was doing this. Why he slipped out of bed as quietly as he could once the sun started shining through the windows, why he was sitting on a squeaky chair at that corner cafe, praying that a quintuple shot of espresso would make up for all the hours he hadn't slept. 

"Cyrus?"

That's why he had asked Kira to meet with him after letting her know that TJ was safe. That TJ was with him.

Because he had no idea what to do, but Kira... maybe Kira did.

And he was just a little bit desperate.

"Well? How's he doing?" 

Cyrus ran a hand through his hair, setting his coffee onto the table as Kira lowered herself into the seat opposite him. She looked surprisingly put together—not hard compared to the baggy shirt and pair of Jonah's basketball shorts that he had grabbed from the top of his pile of clean laundry. Her hair was in a pair of tight braids, a stylish jacket pulled over a UWS Ravens shirt. Makeup done, earings in—he wondered if she'd slept well.

He wondered if she'd ever been too worried to sleep, like he had.

"He's uh..." Cyrus thumbed at the edge of his cup, cleared his throat once and then again before finally looking up. "He's okay. I think. He's... I don't know—he's been sleeping since I got him back to my place. I'm not, uh..."

"That's normal," Kira sat back in her chair, puffing her cheeks out and nodding her head with these small, curt nods that made Cyrus feel like she wanted to be anywhere other than talking to him.

"I, um, I'm not sure if he's okay to stay at the apartment," Cyrus tried to meet Kira's eye, tried to make it having to verbally admit just how incredibly lost he was. "I don't know if he'd be better with his parents—I don't, uh... I don't have their numbers."

"It's..." Kira sighed, too, and she sounded so fucking disappointed. "It's okay. I already let them know he was with you."

"You did? Did they... what did they say?"

He couldn't help the shot of adrenaline that coursed up his spine at Kira's words. TJ's parent... what could they possibly think of him?

"About what? That he's staying at your place?" She leaned forward in her chair, narrowing her eyes as she did so. "Or the fact that you're a guy?"

Cyrus's eyes went wide, mouth suddenly incredibly dry—he hadn't... He had just assumed that...

"Don't shit yourself, kid," Kira muttered, leaning back in her chair and shaking her head incredulously. "You're not the first."

_‘You're just a fucking whim.’_

He wasn't exactly sure what she meant by that—he wasn't TJ's first boyfriend? Or the first guy to give him shelter? Or maybe... the cold stare Kira was giving toward the street did a bit of work to counter her authoritative tone. Maybe he wasn't the first guy he'd run away with over their years-long relationship. Maybe it was all of that. He wasn't sure if she was telling him to make him feel better or worse.

It sort of did both.

"I—"

"You're not the first, but... fuck." With a loud sigh, Kira leaned forward and reached across the table, snatching Cyrus's coffee before he could react. "Oh good—you take it black. Maybe you're not as much of a child as I thought."

"Yeah, well..." Cyrus watched, trying not to feel offended as Kira took a sizable swig of his drink before wincing and setting it back down in the center of the table. "TJ slept. I didn't."

"How far away from your apartment are we?" Kira asked, apparently not planning on finishing her earlier thought. It took Cyrus a moment to regain his bearings, to realize that the conversation had already shifted. Kira leveled an expectant stare at him the entire time.

"Just a few minutes," Cyrus finally answered after grabbing his coffee and pulling it to rest in his lap. "It's just around the corner."

Did she want to go see TJ? He wasn't so sure that was a good idea—he would definitely have to refuse. Somehow. Not that he was looking forward to that.

"Is that why you chose this place?" He watched her lean back into her chair, suddenly much more relaxed as she glanced around the tiny coffee shop.

As smooth as her movement was, it all seemed... forced. 

"Yeah, I, uh..." Cyrus shook his head, taking a moment to remind himself that he'd asked her to meet him for a reason. He had a goal to accomplish. "I didn't want to be too far, in case he woke up. And I'm not a very fast runner, so..."

"Fucking hell..." Kira let out a tired-sounding chuckle, shaking her head again before turning to meet his eyes with unexpected seriousness. "Did you know he talked about you? All the time. How fucked up is that? Even before you both ran off into that rainstorm, I knew something was going on."

"I'm sorry for that," it came out only a bit louder than a whisper, and it wasn't strictly true—he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry for how that night had ended—but Cyrus did feel a pit of guilt begin to blossom in his stomach. He didn't regret it, but that didn't mean it was right. "For... all of this. I never—"

"You're not the first, kid," her voice was suddenly softer, but she powered through like Cyrus wasn't even speaking, "but he never talked about anyone the way he fuckin'... talked about you."

He honestly wasn't sure how to feel about that—and from the look of it, neither was Kira. Her face kept alternating between looking annoyed, looking angry, looking distraught. Watching him like she was waiting for him to screw up and give her a reason to lash out, busying herself by picking at the edge of the table.

"I wanted you to just be another whim so fucking bad," the sigh that underlined her voice sounded... lost. "But you weren't, apparently. Weren't like the others. I think I knew that, to be honest. I think I've known that for a long time."

"Then..." Cyrus's sleep-deprived mind struggled to take in everything she'd just said, all the new-but-maybe-not information. "On the dock. Why did you—"

"Because fuck you, that’s why." Kira's eyes narrowed suddenly, frustration and annoyance filtering back into her voice. "Shit—obviously, you're not just something that got stuck in his fucking head. I was just pissed—I am pissed! Jesus! And I know better than anyone just how capable he is of love."

It took Cyrus a moment before he could look past the anger of Kira's words and understand what she was saying. It would take a lot longer for him to figure out how it was supposed to make him feel—it was all he could do not to shy away from the invective in her voice. To try to focus on what she was telling him. On what was important.

"Why... are you telling me all this?" He dropped his eyes to the coffee mug in his lap—a light brown stain was drying along the rim, and, by that point, the was no longer enough heat to warm his fingers against the morning chill.

He wasn't expecting Kira to lean halfway over the table to get his attention. 

"Because I need," she emphasized, "to make sure you understand the reality of this situation. I may not like it—and I may not like you—but that's not going to change the fact that TJ chose _you_." For a second, Cyrus thought he saw the trace of a tear in her harsh brown eyes, but then she blinked a few times and it was gone. "He's made that extraordinarily clear. And continuing to deny it would only serve to hurt him."

He felt his stomach somersault as Kira held his stare. Felt his heart thrill at her words—TJ chose _him_. It felt... incredibly wrong to respond with a 'thank you,' but it was the only thing that was coming to mind.

"And I need to know that you understand what that means, Cyrus."

He nodded, shaken. He knew better than to think she was referring to dates and sex and stupid jokes. He understood—mostly understood—that part of being with TJ. That wasn't why he was sitting in a coffee shop before 10 AM with someone who hated his guts. That wasn't why Kira had shown up to help him.

That was her goal, right? Or, at least to help TJ?

"It means you have responsibilities now. He's going to need you."

"What should I do?" Immediately, Cyrus felt a bit less sleepy. As he set his mug on the table and leaned forward, he could feel his brain beginning to clear, his mind focusing. This was why he was here.

He watched her hesitate for a moment, eyes tracing his face before apparently finding what she needed and deciding.

"There's no magic answer to that," Kira shook her head as she fell back into her chair. "Believe me, I tried. You're going to have to have patience, and not just with TJ."

"What does... what do you mean?"

"You're going to fuck it up, kid—Cyrus." She let out a sigh, a long one that left Cyrus wondering what was going through her head. "Not just one time, either. Probably a whole bunch of times. If you can't convince yourself that it's not the end of the world, you're gonna drive yourself crazy. Because it's not the end of the world. In the grand scheme of things, it's not your fuck-ups that are going to matter."

"But how do I avoid screwing it up?" He asked, ignoring the part of his brain that was trying to remind him that _Kira had eventually gotten things very wrong._

"Try to be understanding," she started, shrugging as she returned to her task of picking at the edge of the table. "Look it up, read as much as you can about it. You're a science guy, right?"

"Yeah, I uh... I did some research," Cyrus nodded as well, mindlessly tapping at his phone on the table. "It helped a little bit."

"Keep doing that. But don't get cocky. Don't convince yourself that you know everything, or that you know more than him or his doctor."

"Yeah..." he wondered at the sadness that had suffused Kira's tone for just a moment before shaking those thoughts away. That was none of his business. "Yeah."

"Should probably ask him questions—when he's willing to answer, pay attention. But also, don't do something weird like keep a 'TJ Journal'—he'll hate that. And don't, y'know, push to hard. When he wants to sleep, let him sleep. And honestly, good luck waking that fucker up anyway." It felt weird when they both let out a light laugh. Like this wasn't something anyone should bond over. But it felt good, too. "If he doesn't want to talk, don't try to make him talk. It'll be tough—harder than you expect—but that'll only push him farther away. It sucks," she shook her head, "there'll be times when you look at him and... fuck it, there's nothing you can do. But that's just the way it is."

Cyrus nodded, thinking back to the previous night. Powerless felt... apt. He'd spent the entire night staring at TJ curled up beside him just wishing there was some way he could wipe away all the sadness, take away the pain, bring back the smile. Not knowing what to do—not knowing how to even get started—was one of the most frustrating experiences of his life.

"You need to keep an eye out for the signs, too," Kira continued—eyes no longer focused on Cyrus, she was staring over his shoulder at the space behind his head. "When he's starting to turn, there are signs you can notice. For the ups and the downs. Not that you can do anything about it—in fact, it can be frustrating as hell. But at least you can anticipate it. Prepare yourself, and, I don't know, maybe your apartment for what's to come."

The far-off smile that formed on her lips slowly caught Cyrus off guard, but it didn't last long. A few seconds later, Kira was shaking her head, focusing back on him, somber again. Annoyed.

"There's no manual to this—or, no good ones, anyway. You're gonna have to listen to your instincts and talk to TJ. Just, I guess, try not to fuck up too bad."

"What—" Cyrus paused, trying to figure out the words to his question while Kira waited expectantly. Impatiently. It was tough. Impossible, really. What he wanted to know was _'how do I do it perfectly?'_ but obviously that was a useless question to ask. Even sleep-deprived, he knew that. "What's the most important thing? That I can do?"

"Just be there for him," Kira shrugged, not sounding entirely sure of her own words. "But only when he wants it or needs it. And when he doesn't? Just wait for him."

"For how long?" Cyrus asked, voice uncomfortably meek. There was an unspoken future behind Kira's words. One that was starting to come into focus. One that would be difficult, sometimes. Maybe painful. Occasionally even lonely.

"For as long as it takes for him to come back to you."

"What if he doesn't?" 

A future that would require a lot of strength. Maybe even more than he could confidently say he possessed.

"He will," Kira nodded, and Cyrus noticed the tears forming before she could rub them away. "Just have to trust that he always will."

And he believed her. Because he did trust TJ.

Because... yeah. That was the future that he was okay with.

"Actually, fuck that. Most important?" Kira inhaled deeply, nodding one more time before pushing herself from her chair. "Enjoy the good moments, Cyrus. The special ones. Because they'll be there—a lot of them, as long as you're looking. And those moments can make up for any shit times you end up going through if you let them. So, yeah..."

Cyrus watched as she reached for him, hand hesitating as it eventually moved to squeeze his shoulder—light and quick and gone just as fast as it arrived. 

"Thanks, Kira."

It was all he could think to say. As thankful as he felt, he doubted she would have accepted anything more extravagant.

"Yeah," it came out as a sigh—made in passing as she pushed her way toward the door.

"Seriously. Thank you."

"Just don't tell TJ I told you any of that." She didn't break her stride, pushing past the tightly grouped table and chairs between her and her goal. 

"Yeah. I, uh... of course."

"And Cyrus?" Kira paused, already a few tables away, to look over her shoulder at the teen still sitting behind her. A quick nod when he met her eyes was all the warning she gave before turning back around. 

"Good luck, kid."

**_Saturday, 6:32 PM_ **

"So are we going to talk about the, uh... elephant in the room?"

Cyrus glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Amber lower herself into one of the chairs at their tiny kitchen table. There was a mug of tea steaming away beside her—and damn, Cyrus didn't even drink tea but his body was yearning for something warm and soothing right that moment—a light baby-blue ceramic piece that perfectly accentuated her pajamas. She was staring at him patiently, tucking her hair behind her ear and keeping her face neutral and absolutely waiting for a response.

"My elephant or your elephant?" Cyrus turned back to the plate of food—chicken, rice, and broccoli, all with maybe a bit too much lemon pepper seasoning—that TJ hadn't even touched. They didn't have any containers for leftovers, so he was just going to have to wrap it in plastic wrap and hope no one needed all six of their plates any time soon. 

"Mmm, nice try. Your elephant." The sounds of an exaggerated slurp filled their little kitchen—and, honestly, couldn't she have offered him some tea?

"It doesn't seem polite to call my boyfriend an elephant, Amber."

"Oh! Well, that answers one question," there was a shuffle, and a moment later Amber was leaning on the counter next to him, confidently ignoring the fact that he was trying to ignore her. "So you're back together?"

Cyrus paused, staring at the annoyingly crumpled plastic wrap he'd been trying to pull around the edge of the plate. Back together. That was the assumption he'd been operating under—in fact it wasn't like they'd actually _broken up_. He had just... needed time. To think. And he got that time and he'd thought about it and come out the other end surer than ever that this was what he wanted.

"Yeah. We're together."

It was an assumption, but one he felt comfortable making. Mostly comfortable. Sort of comfortable.

"And he's still..."

"Bipolar," Cyrus filled in the gap, finally turning to look Amber in the eye as the fire began to flare up in his chest again. But there was no judgment there. Nothing he had to protect TJ from.

It was just Amber.

"I figured he wasn't just suffering from a really bad hangover," Amber nodded.

Cyrus glanced at the wall, in the general direction of where TJ was laying on the pull out bed, covered in as many warm blankets and surrounded by as many pillows as Cyrus could get for him. Just like he had been all day. Sleeping didn't feel like exactly the right term—though there had definitely been a lot of sleeping going on, there were a few times that Cyrus had noticed his eyes open, only to stare blankly at a wall or ceiling. But outside of a few trips to the bathroom, he hadn't left that bed. And that was pretty much it—he'd barely even spoken a word all day.

"I, uh... sorry about the living room," Cyrus sighed, tossing the uselessly crumpled plastic wrap into the corner of the counter. "If you need the space for something, I can—"

"No! No, no, it's fine, Cy," Amber shook her head rapidly, reaching out to grab Cyrus's wrist. "It's totally fine—it's his for as long as he needs it."

For as long as he needs it—Cyrus thought back to some of the research he'd done the previous week. _Episodes may last for as short as a few hours, and as long as a few months._ Clearly, they were long past the 'hours' timeframe, and he still wasn't familiar enough to know if there was some 'average' length of time he could expect. That was something he would have to ask once TJ was feeling better.

Hopefully that wasn't insulting, somehow. Was it?

"I'm hoping that won't be too long," Cyrus finally responded after a few moments, realizing Amber was still staring at him with concern etched into her features. "I mean, honestly I don't know, but I'll figure something out in a few days if I need to."

"Hey—you know you don't have to do this all on your own, right?" He felt a squeeze, a gentle reminder of Amber's hand still on his wrist. "We're all happy to help, however we can."

"Thanks, but..." Cyrus shook his head lightly, trying to ignore the part of his brain telling him that he was going to need all the help he could get. "You've already got enough going on. Besides, shouldn't you know better at this point than to offer Reed's help for him?"

"Oh, shut up," he felt a shove at his wrist as both of them let out a light chuckle. "You do realize that Reed would do anything you ask him to, right? Just because he likes to fuck with you doesn't change the fact that he loves you like a brother."

"Maybe you haven't heard, but I tend to have pretty bad luck with family."

"Yeah, well..." Amber sighed, finally dropping her grip and walking back to her tea. "I'm serious you know. We're all here for you—I mean, I wouldn't give Lester too much responsibility, but even he's willing to help out. Whatever you need."

"And I'm serious—I've got this," Cyrus shook his head again. "I just need to figure some stuff out." Like, what he was supposed to do if TJ kept refusing food? When would it be time to go into TJ's phone and get the number for his parents? Or...

"What about when you need to go to school?" Amber's voice muffled over the rim of her mug. "It's not like you can stay in this apartment forever, Cy."

"I can miss a day or two of school," he shrugged, immediately knowing how stupid that sounded. "It's not like it'll be the end of the world."

"Or... you could, I don't know... take advantage of your roommate who has no reason to leave the apartment anyway."

"I can't ask you to do that—"

"I'm offering to do that. Cy, seriously—let me help. I want to help."

He stared at her, fuzzy slippers and soft flannel pajamas, looking all the world like the picture of warmth and comfort. He knew Amber was a capable person, a caring person—someone he could trust with his life, if necessary. So why was it so hard to justify trusting her with TJ?

"Don't think I'm going to let you ruin your perfect attendance record out of stubbornness." He could see the edges of her grin peeking over the lip of the mug, even as he shook his head with a sigh.

It was stupid. He didn't even care about having perfect attendance anymore—that was just something he'd used to justify the fact that his mother would never let him stay home from school—but he could feel the traces of a smile pulling at the edge of his lips. And honestly, he was way too tired to argue with a well-rested Amber.

"Thanks, Amber. I... seriously. I'm sure TJ would really appreciate it if you stayed with him on Monday—assuming he needs it."

"Yeah, I'm sure you would as well," she scoffed as she rolled her eyes. "Assuming he needs it."

"I, uh... yeah," there was a pleasant burning on his cheeks, something he didn't really feel like acknowledging. "Thanks."

"Of course. He's practically family at this point anyway."

With a soft smile and still-blushing cheeks, Cyrus turned back to finally address the plate of leftovers still sitting on the counter. It was ridiculous—Amber had met TJ like... four times, had barely spoken to him for a full hour, only really knew what Cyrus had told her about him, but she was already willing to accept him into their little family? The little defense that the two of them had built with Reed and Lester? It still felt weird echoing through his head, but the term fit. They all looked out for each other, they all helped each other, they all annoyed the shit out of each other. They might struggle to pool together $300 between the four of them, but outside of that, he was pretty confident that they could get through anything. 

It was exactly the type of family he'd been pretty sure he would never have.

"I saw my mom, yesterday."

He wasn't exactly sure what prompted him to tell her. Maybe it was because he felt she deserved to know—after all, she was the one who'd saved him. And he'd been the one dumb enough to dive back in.

"You saw... Are you okay—Is everything okay?" Whatever levity there had been in her voice was gone, replaced entirely with concern. And more than a trace of fear.

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry, I just..."

"Cy, did something happen?"

Cyrus sighed, eyes focused on the plate in front of him. He couldn't handle looking at her, letting himself see how much worry he was causing her, so he kept his focus on trying to get a clean length of plastic wrap over the plate of cold food. It was a pretty good distraction.

"No. Well, yes," he shrugged, not entirely confident that he knew what he wanted to say. "Actually a lot of things happened, which—I guess I shouldn't really be surprised by this point, y'know?"

"But she didn't hurt you? Or... You're okay?"

"I mean..." he rubbed at his arm where his mom had grabbed him, had tried to force him to go in with her. It felt cold. "She's just... a really shit mom, y'know?"

"Oh, Cy..." He didn't hear the chair pushing back, or the swish of flannel as Amber crossed the room. All he knew was that—just as the cold was starting to get to him—Amber's warmth was wrapping around his shoulders and pressing against his back, pinning his arms at his sides. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"It's just... I don't think it's really over?" He let himself lean into her warmth, her strength, her support. "She said... she said some things. I don't really know how much was a bluff or how much was true, but I think we can assume she's not giving up. I just... thought I should warn you."

"Then we'll figure it out, okay?" Amber's voice was muffled against his shoulder, hot breath pressing through his shirt. "We won't let her win."

"I know," Cyrus nodded. Nodded again. Felt the urgent need to be convinced by his own words. "I know, I just... It all just made me realize some stuff that I probably should have known a long time ago."

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," he shrugged to the best of his ability, made even more difficult when Amber's hug got even tighter. "Okay—but seriously, can we not break my ribs today? Please?"

"Well, you know where I am if you ever want to talk," with one last squeeze, the pressure around his chest released, and then Amber was next to him again, grabbing one of his hands and threading their fingers together. It was still warm, still strong, still supportive. It was nice. "I pretty much only leave the apartment when Reed invites me to go drinking, so I'm easy to find."

"That's probably not very healthy," Cyrus shook his head, giving Amber's hand squeeze as they leaned against the counter together. "And considering how much I've been studying mental health these last few days, I can actually say that with some level of authority."

"Yeah, well..." Amber shrugged. She didn't need to finish her sentence for Cyrus to know what she was saying. Leaving the apartment was a risk—that she might run into someone her parents knew, or even her mom. It was stressful. It made her feel even more guilty that she could go out and have fun but not go visit her dad. He understood that. Still... he could feel the unspoken the ideas curdling in his stomach.

"You should call your mom."

It slipped out before he'd given himself a chance to self-edit. Because it needed to be said. Because this wasn't healthy for Amber and he knew it was only getting harder for her every day. Because if he let himself think too much about what he was saying, he would chicken out, stay quiet, and that wouldn't be helpful to anyone.

Amber's silence didn't exactly bode well, though.

"I really don't want to act like I know what you're going through—I don't know, but I can see what you've been putting yourself through, and I just... I think it would be a good way to start."

The kitchen stayed quiet, the two of them leaning against the counter side by side, linked only by their clasped hands. It wasn't exactly comfortable—Cyrus could feel his pulse quickening with every passing second, could feel his gut twisting, his mind yelling at him that he'd overstepped—but the words were already out there. He cared too much about Amber to try to pull them back.

"I know."

He felt her squeeze his hand before his mind was really able to parse what she had said. The relief that coursed through his body came more from her action, from the fact that she hadn't tried to pull away, than anything else. 

"You know?"

"I know," Amber repeated, a small, sad nod doubling the sentiment. 

"I can... help you. If you want. I can write out the text, or dial the number, or..."

"No, I..." Cyrus heard the deep inhale, the faint whisper of a sniffle as she shook her head. "I can do it. I'm going to do it, it's just... it's hard."

She squeezed his hand.

He squeezed hers.

"I know." And he didn't, not really. But he had an idea. "But I know you're strong enough to do it anyway."

"Yeah?" Amber laughed a little—a wet, thick sound that still made Cyrus want to smile even as his heart went out to her. Of course Amber was strong enough. He had no doubt.

"Yeah, because I know how much you love your parents," he shook his head. "And because I love you too much to let you torture yourself over this forever."

"What," she scoffed, squeezing his hand again. "You gonna tie me to a chair and call them on speakerphone?"

"If I have to. I know where Reed keeps his handcuffs now."

"Oh god! Don't you dare touch me with those things! There's not enough bleach in the world to sanitize those!"

"Then don't force my hand!" Cyrus laughed, let himself enjoy the sound of Amber laughing with him. The apartment had been so quiet all day, letting in some life had to be good for all of them. So they laughed. They laughed until it became awkward to continue, then let it gently coast into a much more comfortable quiet.

"You're going to be okay," Cyrus was the first to break the silence, to drop Amber's hand, to grab the wrapped-up plate of food and put it in the fridge.

"But... what if it's too late?" Amber asked, just above a whisper. "What if he doesn't want me to see him?"

"They're not going to be mad at you, Amber. They love you. I'm sure they want nothing more than to see you and know you're okay and just... be with you."

"I'm just... I'm scared, Cy."

"I know you are," he paused, weighing his options for a second before walking over to envelop her in a hug of his own. "Fear makes us do stupid, stupid things, though. It makes us lie to people who care about us, yeah? And it makes us give second chances to people who don't. And then third chances. And... just, please believe me when I say it's a shitty way to live," Cyrus shook his head against Amber's shoulder.

Fear was the reason he lied to his friends, the reason he let himself stay connected to his parents. The reason he tried so hard to find something that would capture his dad's interest, something that would get his mom to respect him—instead of trying to find a way out. Because he was afraid of what would happen if he told the truth. Afraid of what would happen without them.

Fear was the reason he almost pushed TJ away. 

"We'll figure it out, okay?"

He let Amber melt into the hug, let her know he would be there to support her until she was nodding against his shoulder. It took a few minutes, but when he pulled back, he could see a warm smile under the slowly drying tears.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Amber's tea was cold by the time she padded over to the table—she glanced toward the remaining liquid with disgust before tossing it into the sink and rinsing out the mug—which meant more time had passed than Cyrus had realized. A quick glance toward the oven clock confirmed his suspicions, and—it's not like he was worried that TJ might have disappeared into the night, but there was a distinct, uncomfortable ache in his chest as he thought about his boyfriend lying in the bed, all alone.

"Sorry to run out on such a heavy moment, but—"

"Your elephant is waiting," Amber nodded, tossing a quick smile over her shoulder before turning back to survey the overfilled sink. "Just... next time, can you please not use every pan we have to cook your dinner?"

"I'll see what I can do."

The one good thing—'good' feel like a callous word, but Cyrus was desperate to find some light in the darkness to latch onto—he could see about TJ being in a depressive mood was that it left plenty of time for him to do his homework. It was with bittersweet satisfaction that he'd been able to finish almost all the work he had to do that weekend while his boyfriend slumbered a few feet away. But he missed the distractions. He missed the way TJ kept his mind busy with dumb jokes and eager kisses, the way he'd refused to let Cyrus look away from him for an entire weekend.

He missed it a lot.

The closest he could get was to crawl into the bed to finish his English reading, and hope that he didn't bother the other teen too much.

So, that's what he did.

It was early to be in bed—even as exhausted as he was, and as boring as he found _The Scarlet Letter_ he doubted he would be falling asleep any time soon—but he could no longer refuse his desire to be next to TJ. So he threw on some pajamas and then carefully—oh, so carefully—Cyrus lowered himself onto the mattress, lifting up the corner of the sheet so that he could slide into place beside the sleeping blond. His heart stilled for a moment as TJ shifted, as he seemed to come up for air, showing his face to the world for the first time in hours.

And, well... it was a really pretty face.

Cyrus settled into the bed, leaning against the back of the couch and using his pillow as a support as he flipped open the book. He only had a few pages he needed to get through over the weekend, a task made harder by the dullness of the words on the page—and the fact that every time he finished a paragraph, he found the urge to glance over at his boyfriend's face unbearable. It wasn't easy. He wanted to swoop down and press his lips to TJ's like he'd done a dozen times before. He wanted to make jokes about his messy hair, and he wanted to pull the covers around them and create their own private world. But he couldn't, and that was... it was tough.

He was a few pages in when TJ shifted beside him, rolled onto his side and extended an arm to wrap around Cyrus's waist. The book was quickly forgotten as Cyrus froze, as the entirety of his focus centered on the warmth emanating from TJ's hand on his hip. As his heart thrilled when TJ gently pulled himself closer. And it wasn't everything. He wasn't even sure how much of it was a conscious choice, to be honest. But... it was enough. It was enough to feel TJ nestle into his side, to feel him relax as he began to trace patterns mindlessly across his boyfriend's back. It was enough to make his heart flutter. It was enough to make him smile as he read Nathaniel Hawthorne's words.

It wasn't everything he wanted. But it was TJ.

And that was enough.

**_Monday, 7:10 AM_ **

_At school. Can't wait to see you when I get back. Miss you already._

_-Underdog_

There. That was cute, right? But not too cute?

Sure, Cyrus didn't have TJ's artistic abilities, couldn't draw any intricate parallel universe scenes of raccoons and underdogs, but he could write without fucking too much up. Just a simple note, just to make sure that TJ would be able to wake up to something nice even if he was alone. Something to let him know that Cyrus was still thinking about him even when they were apart.

Cyrus stared at the little yellow sticky note for a few more seconds before pressing it on the back of the chair beside the bed. Maybe that could be their thing—the notes. TJ with his drawings, Cyrus with words of support—maybe this could be how they kept each other company when life and the world and responsibilities kept them apart. The sign that neither of them were about to leave. Maybe—

"Pretty sure he's just sleeping, Cy. C'mon—you're gonna be late."

A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that Amber was leaning against the wall, and probably had been for quite some time. She had become very fond of being sneaky like that. She was nicely dressed with a mug of tea in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other, an impatient look painted over her features. Impatient because they had talked about this. Cyrus would be going to school like normal, and Amber would keep an eye on his boyfriend, make sure he had anything he needed until Reed got back from his morning lectures and took over for a little while. It was a very reasonable plan.

Except for the fact that it required Cyrus to leave TJ's side.

"I'm going, I'm going. Just give me a sec."

He heard a scoff, heard Amber push off the wall and plod down the hall back to her room, but his eyes were already back on the figure of his boyfriend. Not that there was much new to see. The blond was still wrapped up on the left-hand side of the bed, a bundle of pillows and fuzzy blankets protecting him from the early-morning chill. Cyrus would probably have to steal the purple blanket back from Reed when he returned home from school—it had been a bit of a struggle to get his older roommate to give it up in the first place—but for now it was keeping TJ warm, and that's all that mattered.

There hadn't been much change in TJ's disposition over the course of the weekend. And Cyrus was trying to convince himself that it was okay. TJ was still wearing the same t-shirt and sweats that he had coaxed him into on Saturday. There was a plate of toast and a glass of water sitting by the bed, but he wouldn't have been surprised if they were still untouched by the time he got back. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't worried—to be completely honest, he was terrified. Terrified that he wasn't pushing hard enough on things like getting TJ to eat. Terrified that he might say the wrong thing if he tried to get TJ to get out of bed. It all felt so sensitive, so precariously balanced, and he desperately wanted a chance to just _ask_ what he was supposed to be doing.

But he could tell that TJ wasn't feeling up to answering that kind of question.

The only thing he'd felt confident about all weekend, the only thing he was sure that he was doing right, was staying by TJ's side. He'd done his homework, texted his friends, even watched a movie with Amber and Reed. But he was always there in case TJ needed him.

It felt stupid to ruin that just so he could go to school.

What did one day matter? Staying home 'sick,' making sure TJ was okay—he could just text Jonah to let the school know, it's not like he would be missing—

"Aren't you late?"

Cyrus's phone sat forgotten in his pocket as he looked up to see... the exact same scene as before. TJ was still laying in bed, still turned away from him, still not moving. But still—he had spoken. It wasn't like it was the first words he'd said all weekend—TJ hadn't gone mute, Cyrus understood that—but with all the time he'd been asleep or minimally responsive, it might as well have been. It caught Cyrus so off guard, that it took him a few seconds before he realized that he should probably respond.

And when he did, he couldn't help but smile.

_This was progress._

"Don't worry," he shook his head even though TJ couldn't see it, and took a half-step closer to the bed. "I have plenty of time."

"Time to what?" the response came faster than he expected, causing Cyrus's heart to thrill—because _more talking_ —even as his ears quirked at an unexpected tone in his boyfriend's voice. He sounded... "Watch me sleep some more?"

"No," Cyrus gave a half-shrug as he moved a little closer still. His smile grew, and he gave himself a short nod—because, maybe he wouldn't have to worry about the note, maybe he could be cute _in person._ "It's just, I didn't want you to wake up alone."

"I'm not an idiot, Cyrus." Frustrated. TJ sounded frustrated. Nearing on angry. It was... it caught Cyrus completely off guard. "It's Monday morning, I would have figured out that you went to school. I'm guessing you left me a note, right?"

His eyes shot over to the chair as his stomach dropped, the bright yellow square of paper standing out against the blue of the fabric. This... he swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly stuttering in his chest. This was...

TJ.

"Don't worry, you can go to class. I don't need you to do things like that."

Had he done something wrong?

As TJ shifted in bed, pulling the thickest of the blankets over his head and completely isolating himself from the world, Cyrus thought over everything he had researched, everything Kira had told him, trying to identify where he had gone wrong. Had he pushed too hard on getting TJ to eat? Should he have given the other teen more alone time? What? What was he supposed to do?

He thought he'd been getting things sort-of-right.

He eyed the note again, reaching forward slowly to peel it off and crumple it into his hand, trying to convince himself that he was only imagining the sting in his chest.

"Ok, well..." he glanced back over his shoulder, only to be met with a wave of disappointment as he realized that TJ wasn't planning to respond. Wasn't planning on even looking at him. He couldn't even see his boyfriend's hair anymore—he was completely covered in blankets and pillows. Fuck. "See you later."

He was met only with a silence that lasted until he reached the street below.

Fuck.

_**Monday, 12:27 PM** _

"You've reached the Gay, Bisexual, and Asexual Medical Clinic and Refugee House, this is Reed speaking!"

Cyrus leaned back, sending a confused glare at his phone for a second before bringing it back to his ear.

"Okay..."

"What, not even a chuckle? I've been working on that all morning! The asexual is for Lester—not that he's ever said anything, but I wonder, y'know? He's never brought anyone home or said anything like—"

"Reed, seriously," Cyrus sighed, shifting his eyes to look out the window. It was a gloomy day, perfectly fitting for the way his stomach kept twisting uncomfortably as he sat through his morning classes. His focus kept being pulled away from his teachers, checking his phone to see if there were any updates, staring at the gray sky, wondering how TJ was doing.

He did feel like putting up with Reed's bullshit.

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want?" He could hear the eye-roll come through in his roommate's voice, and, not for the first time that day, he wondered why he'd ever agreed to this stupid plan. It would have been so much easier—so much better—if he had just stayed in bed.

Even if TJ had...

"How's he doing?"

"How's who doing—Oh right. Mr. Kippen, yes they put in his chart that you might be calling to check in—" 

"Reed, I swear to God." Wonderful—Cyrus sighed—apparently Reed wasn't planning on dropping the nurse routine. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that his roommate had been wearing a 'sexy' nurse costume the entire day.

"Oh chill, sparrow. Your boy toy's fine."

"And...?"

"And what? I don't know, he's fine! He got up to pee, doesn't seem to be having any trouble with that—wouldn't even let me into the bathroom to help him out. Then he ate a slice of toast, drank some water, so appetite seems to be coming back. Then he went back to sleep. Honestly? Easiest patient I've had all day."

"Good..." Food was good. Eating and talking and being able to put up with Reed were all good signs. Right? "Just... watch him? I mean, obviously not in a creepy way, or anything, just... keep an eye on him? And if anything happens, just call me, yeah? I'll be home right away."

"Of course, sir, we do have your number is his emergency contacts," Reed adopted his nurse voice—which, what even is a 'nurse voice'?—once again. "And don't you worry. I'm sure your... hmm, let's see, relationship status lists you as his... 'lover'?—I'm sure your lover will be just fine."

"Reed..."

"Actually, y'know what—can we retry this from the top? I really think this nurse thing may be my calling, I want to try doing it more professionally than—"

Whatever Reed was going to say was lost to Cyrus's groan as he ended the call. The uncomfortable twisting in his stomach had settled slightly—very, very slightly—during the check-in, but he was still dreading heading back into the lunchroom. Eating was definitely not going to be an option. He just... he didn't want to be there. At school. His mind had been on his phone all day—he kept feeling the phantom vibrations of imagined calls and emergency texts that never existed, each one sending his adrenaline spiking.

In some far, distant reach of his mind, Cyrus knew he was being ridiculous. He wasn't even sure he had any idea of what an 'emergency' text might entail. 

'Hey Cyrus, this is really bad, TJ's sleeping even _harder_!'

But, as he dragged his feet to re-join his friends at their lunch table, he couldn't shake the feeling that he should have been back at the apartment. With TJ. Not spending his day being surrounded by chatty teenagers and lectured at by teachers that had no idea what he was going through. If Amber hadn't threatened his life just for floating the idea of ditching the second half of the day, he would already be on a bus.

"Okay—so get this. That's when _she_ says, 'No, _I_ am the chosen one!' and then explosions everywhere, and—"

"Dude. The fuck. I thought you were telling us about your dream last night."

"I am!" 

Jonah and Marty were apparently too occupied to take note of the way Cyrus slumped into his chair. Which was honestly a good thing, because he did not have the energy for—

"What. No baby taters left?"

Cyrus turned to see Gus eyeing the obviously empty table where the food Cyrus was supposed to have been retrieving should have been. His friend's eyebrow quirked up as he let out a sigh and shook his head.

"Not hungry."

"Dude," Gus's eyes narrowed, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. "C'mon. You gotta eat."

" _Dude_ , I'm fine. I'm just not hungry!"

"What, did something happen?" Jonah was leaning slightly over the table now, his focus turned away from Marty and his horrid table manners. "Is TJ..."

"No. No, he's fine, he's..." Cyrus took in a deep breath, scratching at the back of his head. "I should be there with him."

"Dude. Chill." Marty's voice, still slightly muffled by a mouthful of french fries, joined the fray—great, it was time for another round of 'let's lecture Cyrus!'—and Cyrus could already feel the beginnings of a glare forming. "Your guy's gonna be fine!"

Cyrus's hands were already tensing under the table. He'd given a rough rundown of the previous weekend to his friends over text and before classes started. They should have understood what exactly it was he was struggling with.

"It's normal for me to be worried!"

"Not like this!" Marty stressed, eyes wide. "Fuckin... you're gonna give yourself an ulcer if you keep this up!"

"Because something could happen!" Cyrus shouted, resolutely ignoring the fact that he had no idea what that 'something' might be.

"So?" Marty asked, going back for another handful of fries. "I mean, Something can _always_ happen, right? Look. Okay, let's imagine—don't fucking roll your eyes at me, Goodman—imagine this TJ guy is it for you. The one. Wedding bells in your future."

"I call Best Man!" Jonah grinned, dimpled smile catching Cyrus slightly off guard.

"Exactly—now look at yourself. Are you gonna live the rest of your life like... this?"

Cyrus glanced down at his chest as Marty gestured toward him. Sure, he wasn't exactly wearing his cleanest clothes, and, sure, there might have been a tiny tremor in his right hand from lack of sleep—and the desire to be texting Reed for updates—and, sure, his stomach may have felt like it was curdling in on itself, but...

Well...

"Fine. Fine!" Cyrus scratched at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before looking back up to meet Marty's stare. "So what am I supposed to do? Just, fuckin'... go about my day and pretend everything's okay?"

"Yes! Good job, Cy! Got it in one!" Smiling wide, Marty held up a hand for a high five.

Cyrus did not reciprocate.

"Alright, fine. TJ's a big boy, right? Fuckin... don't know how you, of all people, ended up dating someone college-aged—but anyway! He's gonna know how to manage himself better than you do! So trust the fucker! He'll tell you if he needs your help!"

"So, what?" Cyrus let his disbelief come through in his voice. "I do nothing?"

"Dude. Yes." Marty shook his head. "Live your life, just like you used to. Man, seriously—eat something. You need to eat. You need to... to fucking hang out with us after school. Go to parties, get drunk, watch porn—actually, wait, Cy, do you watch gay porn now?"

"Oh fuck off."

"No, but seriously," Jonah leaned forward, cheeky grin still stretched across his face. "I mean, not that I have any idea what I'm talking about, but isn't this whole TJ situation like... a little concerning? Like, Cy's not crazy here."

"Okay, sure, but he still needs to trust his boyfriend over his fuckin'... anxiety."

"Mmm, that's true," Gus added, taking a bite of his cookie.

"Look, I'm not, like, fawning after my mom everywhere she goes. Freaking out and—"

"Yeah, but it's not like you have the same type of relationship with your mother as Cy does with TJ," Gus interrupted. "I mean. Fuck, I hope not."

"Hardy har har," Marty shook his head. "Fine—whatever. I'm just saying, as the closest thing to an expert this idiot has—" and, oh god, that was the truth, wasn't it? "—my mom? When she's having an episode, she's having an episode. When she's depressed, she's depressed, y'know. Worrying's not going to change shit. And then she's back to normal—happy, talking, yelling at me for shit I forgot to do while she was in bed. It's all good! I'll give up my left nut if TJ's not the same way."

Cyrus sat back in his chair with a sigh, lips pursed as Marty looked at him expectantly. It's not that he doubted Marty—well, he did, but that didn't have anything to do with the advice—it was just that it felt so... callous. How was he not supposed to be worried about his boyfriend? Just thinking about TJ made his chest feel tight, made his heart stutter and his stomach feel all floaty. How was he not supposed to be worried when someone who did _that_ was having such a difficult time.

"You just gotta wait for TJ to come back to the surface," Marty said with an air of finality before stuffing another handful of fries into his mouth.

"Dude," beside Cyrus, Gus was shaking his head with a soft smile, "you're, like, kicking ass on this 'bipolar' thing. Maybe you should give up on chasing girls and focus on helping Cy's boyfriend."

"Seriously," Jonah chuckled. "You should—"

"Hey, uh... gentlemen." Buffy suddenly appeared behind Gus's shoulder, a wary smile on her lips as she looked over the four of them. 

"Buffy," Jonah responded after a moment of silence, "hey."

"So, just wanted to let you know, we're organizing a sit-in for the common room." Her voice was low, but less like she was worried about spies and more like she was just... exhausted. Cyrus wondered what _her_ weekend had been like. "Libby's idea."

"We'll be there," Marty answered almost before Buffy had even finished talking. "Absolutely, whatever you need."

"Well mostly I just need your bodies in... oh God—please, no, I heard it as soon as I said it. Just... Wednesday?"

"Yeah," Cyrus and Gus echoed. "We're in."

"Awesome, well..."

"Wait, Buffy?" Given the last time he'd seen Marty and Buffy interact, Cyrus was a little surprised to hear his friend call after the basketball captain as she began to retreat from their table. He was even more surprised when she stopped and turned back around.

But, honestly? Not as surprised as Marty.

"Yes?"

"Oh, uh... right! Right, I just—I mean—I know you that... you. And Andi. And—"

"Dude," Jonah leaned over to elbow his friend. "You're rambling."

"Fuck, I mean..." Marty shook his head, closing his eyes tightly before looking back up at Buffy with a suddenly relaxed smile. "If Metcalf tries to stop you, he'll have to get through me first."

"Nice."

"Well," Cyrus heard Buffy let out a light laugh. Maybe a quarter of a laugh. "Not that I need anyone to defend me, but..."

And then she was sighing, turning around, and throwing them a thumbs-up over her shoulder.

"Holy shit," Gus whispered, glancing back at Buffy as he leaned closer to Marty. "Marty Foss, I don't want to get your hopes up, but I think that may have just been, like... a good move."

"Fuck you," Marty chuckled, leaning down to take a bite of his sandwich. "Marty Foss only has good moves."

As his friends broke out in an uproar of laughter under Marty's disgruntled glare, Cyrus couldn't help but join in, unable to keep the smile from his lips—and for just a moment, as they each took turns recounting Marty's numerous flirting failures, he felt relaxed.

And suddenly, extremely hungry.

**_Monday, 4:48 PM_ **

"Okay, so now I know you're cheating because there's no fucking way you can get a full house three rounds in a row."

Cyrus entered the apartment to the sounds of Reed's complaining, and for a moment it felt just like every other Monday. He bristled against the relative warmth of the apartment, cheeks flushed from the cold and the fact that he'd practically sprinted all the way from the bus stop. It wasn't that he wanted to be dramatic, it was just that the bus had been late. Again. And he had places to be.

People to be with.

"Well..."

TJ's voice filtered through the din of Reed and Lester's complaints, soft—softer than usual—but there. Immediately, Cyrus could feel his chest growing lighter, his slim trace of optimism starting to grow. As he stepped past the entryway an even more encouraging fact made its way to his eyes.

The bed was gone. Folded up into the couch to make room for the coffee table, around which TJ, Lester, and Reed had gathered to apparently play a hand of poker. They were using tortilla chips as their bets, and Cyrus felt his stomach settle even more as he watched TJ mindlessly eat one while he studied his cards.

It was TJ. It was...

Reed was the first to notice his arrival, but TJ was a close second, stormy eyes locking with Cyrus's as he kneeled on the other side of the table. He didn't make any move to get up. Just set his cards on the table and... watched as Cyrus put his bag down against the wall.

Cyrus felt his heart lurch against his chest as he realized that he wasn't going to be getting the smiling, over-excited hug that part of him had been hoping for.

"Cyrus! Just in time, I was just about to, uh, find the, um..." he watched as Reed glanced over at Lester, nodding toward the kitchen for a few seconds before sighing disappointedly. "Fuck it, I'm tired of making up excuses—c'mon, dumbass!"

"Hey!" Lester shouted as Reed grabbed his wrist. "What the fuck, I was winning!"

"You were losing badly. And also, come the fuck on, these two need to talk."

Cyrus smiled, small but thankful as Reed dragged a still-complaining Lester past them and toward their rooms, purposefully ignoring the wink his older roommate gave him as he walked by.

It was weird, watching TJ push himself up from the ground and slowly walk over to him. It was weird because Cyrus wanted to run, to wrap TJ in his arms and pepper him with kisses—because... fuck! TJ was up and walking around and talking to people and... fuck! But he couldn't do all that. He didn't know if TJ was ready for that, and, more importantly, the look in TJ's eyes was not calling for any kind of celebration. It was a distant look—not cold, not hard, but removed. Worried.

"Hi."

TJ was the first to break the silence, a soft tinge of a smile pulling at his lips as Cyrus took a step closer, positioning himself at what he had come to think of as 'kissing distance.'

Shit, it's weird how much things can change in a few weeks, right?

"Hi."

"How was your day?" 

"It was okay," Cyrus shrugged, deciding to leave out the part where he'd been crazy with anxiety since leaving the apartment. That didn't seem to fit into the little scene they were playing out. He wanted to be talking about good things. Only good things. "How was yours?"

"You know," TJ shrugged as well, his smile growing a bit larger and a bit more rueful—and fuck, that smile held so much sway over Cyrus's heart. "It was okay."

Cyrus felt himself grin, felt himself start to lean in a little bit closer—because, fuck, how was he supposed to be standing that close to his boyfriend and not be preparing for a kiss?—when he heard TJ clear his throat.

"I'm sorry. About this morning."

He watched silently for a moment as TJ's eyes danced across his face, pausing for a moment on his lips before flashing back to his eyes. Honestly, the morning's conversation was not what he wanted to talk about. Not when he had his boyfriend back. Not when there were so many better things they could be doing.

"It's okay," he shook his head, because _it was._ Because he understood. He did. "Let's just... let's forget about that."

"No."

"Yes," Cyrus insisted, nodding. They didn't need to do this. He wanted to TJ to know that he could just... move on.

"No. We can't. _I_ can't." TJ took a step back, eyes dropping to the floor as he stepped around Cyrus. "It happened, Cyrus. And... it'll happen again."

Cyrus spun slowly, tracing TJ's steps as the other teen walked over to lean against the wall, waiting until his boyfriend met his eyes once again. Waiting until the smile came back.

"It pisses me off," TJ continued, shaking his head. He paused for a moment, dropping Cyrus's stare as he took in a deep breath. "Because I don't know how to control it. Stop myself from being an asshole. And... it kills me, that I did that to you."

Against his wishes, Cyrus thought back to that morning. To the way TJ's words had shaken him, made him question all the things he'd done to try to help. They'd followed him all day, poking at him, telling him he was screwing it up. They _sucked._ That's why he wanted to move past it.

Had TJ been just as haunted?

"I'm..." the older teen's voice grew soft, grew thicker. "I'm afraid you won't be able to handle it, one day."

At that, Cyrus felt his eyebrow quirk. Because _no_ , he was going to 'handle' whatever TJ threw at him. He was. He was about to say as much when TJ continued.

"Actually, I, um... I don't think I want you to have to handle it."

"What does that mean?" The question came out fast, before Cyrus's gut even got a chance to twist in anxiety at the other teen's words. But, oh, did that twisting, bubbling, aching anxiety set in fast, make his throat go dry as TJ stared at the ground and nodded to himself.

"Cyrus... sometimes I'm going to be an asshole. Like this morning." He watched stormy eyes shift around the room, hidden partially by flat, unstyled blond hair. "Sometimes I'll sleep for a whole week. Sometimes I won't do anything at all. Sometimes, I'll be... excited for no reason."

"TJ," Cyrus reached forward the moment he recognized the glint of wet in the corner of those eyes. "Hey. Look at me. I can handle that. I can."

"I'm being serious," TJ pulled his hand away before looking up with a resolute stare.

"So am I."

"Please," Cyrus held TJ's stare as his boyfriend continued on his point, refusing to back down, refusing to fold, because _no._ "I'll make your life a... a living hell. I'll shout at you. I'll fucking... disappear out of nowhere. I'll blame you for nothing—for wanting to help me. I'll..."

TJ shook his head, dropping Cyrus's stare to fix his glare on the couch.

Cyrus refused to look away.

"Did you know I take medication?" TJ asked. "Two little white pills, every day. Sometimes, I just won't do it. You'll want to check that I did, you'll want to ask, and it'll piss me off. So, sometimes, I'll just... lie."

There was a shake in his voice, a soft, almost imperceptible warble, and it made Cyrus's heart lurch. Because he knew what TJ was doing. He'd watched enough crappy late-night Hallmark movies to recognize what he was trying to do. He was trying to protect Cyrus. To do what he thought was best at his own expense.

"I don't know why, but I tend to do that when I'm feeling good. And... I feel good with you."

"Me too," Cyrus shook his head, stepping forward because, _no,_ he was not letting this happen. "I feel good—"

"Yeah, but that's just it," TJ's voice pitched up as he leaned back.

"What is?"

"I don't want that to change. Cyrus, I don't want you to stop feeling good with me. And it will change. It'll change... because of me." TJ paused to take in another deep breath, and Cyrus could see fat, sparkling tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. "And I don't want that. I don't want you to..."

Cyrus's felt his heart shatter as TJ looked to the ground, looked away from him. Fuck. _Fuck_. TJ...

"I don't want to hurt you," TJ continued, even as Cyrus took another step closer, bringing their feet together. "I don't want to... scare you. Or injure you, or... I don't want you to have a shitty life because of me."

"No," Cyrus shook his head, words starting to spill from his mouth before he could think because _he needed to stop this, he needed to help TJ, he needed to..._ "No, I... I mean—look. Maybe that will happen—"

"It _will_ happen, Cyrus."

"Hey, you don't know that," Cyrus leaned forward—forcing a smile, forcing back tears, forcing himself to look strong and sure and confident. "You have no idea what might happen, okay? I... I might be the one to chase you away!"

"Cy..."

"No, seriously, I... I'm gonna say stupid things too. I'm gonna screw so much stuff up and I'm even not bipolar."

"That's not the point," TJ shifted to stare at the ground at their feet. 

"Then, so what? Okay, I'm not exactly flawless either. Right? I'm like... this horrible mix of anxiety and stupid decisions and you're still willing to put up with me, aren't you?" Cyrus let out a laugh—it was strained, and wet, and didn't even get a smile in return, but it got TJ to look up and meet his eyes. "Look, I might disappear sometimes. And, y'know, I'm going to yell, too, probably. And shut you out, and get upset over stupid things. But, TJ, I would so much rather be upset because of you then to not have you in my life at all."

The way his heart pounded in his chest as he stared into TJ's eyes, as he tried to communicate through simple force of thought that, _'I'm human and so are you and I accept that!'_ Cyrus thought he might die. Boom. Heart attack. Right then and there.

And then TJ was nodding—a shaky, slow, shy nod that never broke eye contact—and breathing in these deep, shaky breaths.

And Cyrus was flying.

"Hey, look at me, okay?" Cyrus reached up, wrapped his fingers into the hair at the base of TJ's neck and pulled his boyfriend so that their foreheads pressed together. "We'll see what happens, okay? We'll figure it out."

And TJ was still nodding, still breathing heavily as Cyrus pulled them even closer together, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend's waist like he was never going to let go.

"And—hey, you know what? From now on, we're going to take it day by day. Okay?" Cyrus nodded as TJ leaned back enough to meet his stare with teary, red eyes. "Actually, we can do better. From now on, we're going to live minute by minute."

"Yeah?" TJ's voice was still quiet, just barely a whisper. Still strong enough to send a shiver rocketing down Cyrus's spine.

"Yeah."

"Cyrus," TJ started, voice still filled with something Cyrus didn't want to identify. "I still—"

"Hey," Cyrus interrupted, reaching up to run his thumb along the bottom of his boyfriend's lip. TJ's eyes were still red, still glassy with unshed tears, and still absolutely breathtaking. "That starts now, okay? We're not focusing on anything else. Just this minute."

The silence that followed was just enough time for Cyrus to pray his ass off that he was saying the right thing.

"Nothing else?" The words were equal parts hopeful and hesitant. Cyrus could still see guilt behind those eyes. Fear. Anxiety. He could see TJ trying to blink those feelings away, trying to focus his mind on what was in front of him.

He could tell it was difficult.

It was hard for Cyrus too. Hard to shut down the anxious track playing in his mind, hard to forget all the things TJ had said. It was hard not to worry about the future. About his mom. About TJ's next episode. It was hard.

But for TJ? He would do it for TJ.

"Nothing else," Cyrus's words came out in a whisper—soft, caring, with as much self-confidence as he could muster. "Just this. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

Watching TJ's smile grow—shaky, still a bit unsure—was like watching the sun come out from behind the clouds. It wasn't so big that his eyes crinkled closed, it wasn't toothy or cocky or sly. It was soft. Soft, and filled with so much unspoken thanks and comfort that Cyrus couldn't help smiling in return. 

Cyrus had missed that smile.

"So what do you want to do for this minute?" Cyrus asked, pulling his arm tighter around TJ's waist, standing up as tall as he could. Trying not to let himself feel like he had done something right. Trying not to tell himself that he deserved something nice as a reward.

"This minute?"

"Mhmm?"

"Well," for just a second, TJ hesitated, but then he was standing up taller, wrapping his arm around Cyrus's back and beginning to trace invisible designs down the sides of his jacket. "I really think I'd like to kiss my boyfriend."

"I think we can manage that."

It was a soft kiss. Warm and stretched out like a fresh summer day. It gave them time to smile into it, to shift and reposition until they had slotted into each other so tightly that Cyrus felt they might never be unwound. They laughed into, even TJ, with his runny nose and teary eyes, laughed into Cyrus's shoulder when they took a moment to look at each other. Take each other in. TJ still looked like crap—Cyrus's clothes were too tight on him, his eyes were still red, his hair was a mess and he badly needed a shower. And Cyrus didn't care. 

"You're handsome when you laugh." All Cyrus wanted to do was lean in even closer, kiss him even deeper, make that smile grow wider and more joyous. To take comfort in his boyfriend's arms. 

So he did.

So they did.

**_Wednesday, 8:07 AM_ **

The first period bell had rung out through the school approximately two minutes ago, but Cyrus Goodman was not sitting in his first period class. And neither was Jonah, Marty, or any one of the other dozens of kids sitting around him. Because they were in the common room, crammed together as tightly as they could, with their butts planted firmly on the linoleum in a currently-silent protest.

He glanced at the room around him, at the hastily created signs and the large group of students all wearing black, taking in the faces of the teens who had come to lend their support. It was mostly Juniors and Seniors, which made sense, but the number was more than a little surprising. He had expected to be performing this desperate act with little more than his friends and his friends' friends—he knew the common room had gotten popular with the older students over the few weeks it had been open, but this was not the Jefferson he was used to seeing. This was not the body of students best known for their ability to look the other way. 

To get this many kids to risk their asses could only have been achieved by a group effort. Or maybe...

He saw members of the soccer team, whom he could only assume had come at Marty's request. Kids he knew belonged to the disparate friend groups of Gus and Jonah and Andi—all of whom he had seen use the common room at some point in the previous weeks. Iris was there, smiling wide as one of her friends whispered into her ear; continuing to smile even when she caught Cyrus's eye. Even he'd had a part to play—Cyrus had been the one to convince Mr. Tandy to give them the key, spinning the story that he'd left something important in there before the doors had been locked.

The guilt sitting awkwardly in his stomach had only been slightly assuaged by the wink the older administrator had given him while he lamented the importance of students not losing things they cared for.

Yeah—Cyrus was pretty sure that Mr. Tandy knew exactly what was going on when he'd asked for the key. But that really hadn't made the lying any easier.

It was an impressive effort—it wasn't something he had ever seen at Jefferson before, and the sense going around the room was hopeful. Hopeful that the surprise factor might be enough to catch Metcalf off guard. Enough to make this a success.

When the doors swung open to reveal their sharply-dressed, already impatient-looking principal, Cyrus could immediately feel the mood of the room shift toward anxiety. At least, that was what his own gut was telling him.

"Alright," Metcalf glanced over his shoulder at the school guidance counselor, who immediately started noting something on a sheet of paper, "what is going on here?"

"We're here to protest the closing of the common room," Andi's voice rung out from the front of the crowd of teens. Cyrus leaned into Jonah to get a better look at her and Buffy and Libby, all three of them sitting in a small group in front of everyone else, all three of them looking especially well put-together, arms linked and confident. He wasn't quite sure how they were doing it—the confident part.

"That's very nice for all of you, but I think I've made myself very clear," there was a frustrated impatience that Cyrus picked up on in his voice, but he was so much more controlled than he had been the previous week. "So, let's all get to class and I'm willing to forget this little stunt ever happened. Hmm? C'mon. Let's go."

Cyrus wasn't even sure where the 'No!' came from—somewhere behind him in a deep, gravelly voice—all he knew was that, a moment later, Metcalf was shaking his head.

"You all need to go to class. You are students, I cannot allow you to sit here all day."

"We're not going anywhere, um, sir," Andi shook her head, glancing over at a smiling Libby. "This is America, right? We have a right to protest."

Cyrus heard a shuffling sound and saw Libby's hand's moving as Metcalf sighed.

"Okay, can someone—what is she saying?"

"She said that protesting is our specialty," Andi translated to a chorus of laughter that rippled through the students. "And she's right. Because we're not leaving."

"Did you honestly think," Metcalf leaned down, staring at the three girls with a hand on his hip and a sneer in his voice, "that I would entertain this grotesque blackmail?"

"It's not blackmail," Buffy finally broke her silence. Her voice was calm—which, in and of itself was practically a miracle—and Cyrus was happy to see that she hadn't opened with her original plan of threatening Metcalf's life. "It's a peaceful protest. We just want our space back—the space you told us to make ours."

"I told you to transform it, yes, Ms. Driscoll—into a place of study. A break room. Not some... brothel with hacked wifi."

"What's a brothel?" Cyrus heard Marty whisper to Gus while Buffy pushed herself to her feet.

"It's what you'll need to visit if you ever want to lose your virginity."

A small wave of laughter spread out from around their gang, just loud enough to draw a glare and a disappointed sigh from Mr. Metcalf—Cyrus felt himself bristle as the principal focused on him for just a second before Buffy cleared her throat and brought the attention back on her.

The whole room fell silent, a fine string of tension pulling tight in each of their chests.

"Sir," Buffy began, slow, still calm, still astonishingly confident. "I will admit we made some mistakes, but—"

"But what, Ms. Driscoll? Hmm?"

Metcalf took a step closer to Buffy, straightening his back so that he could literally look down his nose at her—but that wasn't what Cyrus was focusing on. He was staring at Buffy's hand, and the way it was balling up into a fist as she was interrupted. At her shoulders, and how much tension he could see them holding.

"Please, enlighten me," Metcalf continued with so much condescension in his voice that even Cyrus was beginning to feel offended. "Because, to be honest, this whole affair has left me feeling nothing but disappointment in you. You, specifically—clearly I expected too much."

Cyrus watched as Buffy's shoulders grew tighter, as her breaths grew shorter—he couldn't see her face but he didn't need to. He knew that it was likely a mask of fury. The type of fury he had only seen the day after they lost the state championship. The kind of fury where she was one snide comment away from snapping.

"As I was saying," Buffy's voice was already coming out strained, already less controlled, "If you'll—"

"You know, I imagine your mother—"

"Let her speak!"

Marty's voice called out, seeming to catch their principal off guard as he visibly faltered. There was a shuffle next to him, a whisper of Gus's encouragement, and then Marty was standing—a new target of Metcalf's focus. A new annoyance, which, to be honest, was more Marty's specialty.

"Excuse you?" Metcalf took a step to the side and Cyrus saw Buffy's hand unclench out of the corner of his eye. "What was that, Mr. Foss?"

"I said, uh..." when he'd first interrupted, Marty's voice has been powerful. Deep. But almost immediately it had transitioned into his normal, slightly obnoxious tone. "Let Ms. Dris—uh, Buffy speak. She..." he glanced down at the three of them, looking lost, looking desperate. Cyrus offered a thumbs-up, because what else was he supposed to do? "I mean, the common room was essentially all her doing, so—"

"Seriously, Marty?" Buffy turned around an annoyed look on her face. Beside her, Metcalf let out an unsurprised chuckle.

"But in a good way! I mean—" Marty scratched at the back of his head, eyes searching for something to inspire him, "—she, uh, lead everything that happened here. And organized it. And we admire her for that!"

A chorus of cheers, of agreement rose up from the crowd, not just from Jonah and their little gang, but from students all over the room.

"I admire her! And I— _we_ want Buffy to speak for us. So... yeah. Let her speak."

For a second, Marty continued to stand, looking almost out of breath as Metcalf stared him down, but then Buffy was clearing her throat and the attention of the room shifted back on to her. Cyrus heard his friend fall back to the ground with a sigh of relief, heard Gus whisper a congratulation, but his focus was entirely on Buffy and the principal. On Buffy in particular.

Whether it had been Marty's goal or not, she had taken his interruption as a chance to get herself back under control. Her fists were unclenched—one of them interlaced with Andi's hand as an anchor of support—and her voice was back to the calm, measured tone. The one that didn't make Cyrus worry that he was about to watch a murder.

"Well?"

"Mr. Metcalf, when Andi and I asked you to let us re-open the common room, we gave you a number of reasons why it would be a good idea. Now," Buffy glanced over her shoulder at the students gathered behind her before turning back to face a still-impatient but finally silent Mr. Metcalf, "I can't attest to whether test scores have improved, or whether there have been fewer detentions, but the other thing we told you is that it would lead to increased school spirit. And, well..." with a flourish, Buffy motioned toward everyone behind her.

The cheer than rang out was quickly hushed by Metcalf's glare.

"Teenage rebellion is not the same thing as school spirit, Ms. Driscoll."

"We're here because we want to improve the school," Buffy countered, "not because we're just... feeling rebellious. As an athlete, I know already know that Jefferson has the lowest fan turnout of any of the schools we go up against. I know how embarrassing it is. I mean, honestly? We don't have bake sales or charity drives, no one dresses up for spirit days—honestly, before last month I couldn't have told you the names of half the people in this room."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, one that Cyrus couldn't keep himself from nodding along with. And the amazing thing was, even as their principal glared over all of them with his hands on his hips and a frustrated glare, Cyrus could tell that he had no way to refute Buffy's point. 

"This... room," Buffy continued, picking up steam as her uninterrupted words grew more impassioned, "is the first thing to get your student body excited and engaged in... as long as I've been here. People actually want to work to make it better—to make the school better! I've made new friends because of this room—" for a brief moment, Cyrus let himself wonder if that was referring to him, "—and I know I'm not the only one. Because it's _ours_. Having a space that's ours gave us a place to bond, and actually get to know each other. No class, no sports team could do that. Nothing the school puts together will ever be able to come close."

Cyrus watched with bated breath as Metcalf's scowl softened at Buffy's words, watched as the tension in his shoulders lessened just a touch. Still in the doorway, Cyrus could see the guidance counselor nodding along with the impassioned speech, notebook clutched close to her chest.

"So, yes. We messed up. Abused your trust, even. And I am..." Buffy sighed, pausing for a second. It looked like she was summoning some strength from deep within herself in order to continue. "I am sorry for that."

Metcalf... nodded. Cyrus and about twenty other students around him all let out a collective breath as their principal sighed, took a half step back, and began to glare at the ground. Cyrus watched him glance at the guidance counselor for a moment, lock eyes with her before turning back when she nodded.

He didn't want to get his hopes up, but...

"But that's not a reason to punish the whole student body—because that's what closing the common room is doing. Because without it, things will just go back to who they are. We'll all go back to being strangers. And if school isn't going to give us a place to learn to interact with people outside of our comfort zone, our social groups, that what will? 'Cause, honestly? The world's pretty fucked up right now—"

"Language, Ms. Driscoll..."

"Pretty screwed up right now," Buffy corrected, but even that hadn't seemed to re-energize Metcalf's anger. "This may be our last chance to learn how to get to know—to learn how to live with people who aren't... us!"

Metcalf glanced around the room, glanced at the wide range of students gathered in front of him, and sighed. As first one teen and then dozens began to nod and voice their agreement, he only dragged his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. 

Maybe it was Buffy's words—Cyrus had no doubt that Andi had coached her at least a little—that made the difference. Maybe it was because the guidance counselor had been moved almost to tears. Or maybe it was the fact that at least five students had filmed the entire speech from various vantage points, and Metcalf had already performed the mental calculation on the probability of internet backlash.

Or maybe Metcalf was actually a lot softer than they all thought.

"Fine."

A raucous cheer exploded throughout the room, every corner filled with shouting and laughs and high fives. At the front, Cyrus could see Andi and Libby jumping up to hug Buffy, could see Buffy sagging slightly into Andi's arms, could see them all smiling widely until Jonah tugged him off balance and into a hug.

"Quiet! I said quiet!" Metcalf's still-frustrated, though mostly disappointed voice forced itself above the din of cheering until silence fell. "Fine—the common room will reopen—"

A quick burst of cheering drew out another glare from their principal.

"But!" Metcalf continued before the room had really settled down. "But at the _first_ screw up," the principal pointed at a few random people across the room, Cyrus included—which... fair, "it will be closed immediately. No questions, no protests—nothing. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." Buffy nodded as she attempted—and failed—to stifle her self-satisfied smile. "Loud and clear."

"Very good. Now, everyone," Metcalf's voice rose above the clamor that had started to grow again. "Get to class before I call all of your parents!"

As the room began to empty out, Cyrus couldn't help himself. He was too excited. Too proud. As the crowd flowed around them, he wrapped Buffy and Andi and Libby in the tightest hug he could muster, only letting go when Buffy began to threaten his unmentionables.

"Congratulations," he sighed, leaning into Jonah as his friend pulled Andi into a side hug. "You guys kicked ass."

"You say that like it's a surprise, Goodman," Buffy shook her head, letting out a scoff. "I always kick ass."

"Well then, it was especially notable this time," Jonah grinned as he pushed Cyrus off him.

"He's not wrong, Buff," Andi added, voice happily, excitedly high-pitched. "This victory is all yours."

"I'm especially impressed you managed not to rip Metcalf's head off," Gus said as he and Marty joined the rest of them. "Not sure how you kept it in."

"Well," Buffy sighed, turning to face Marty with a... conflicted look on her face. "I guess I should probably give you some... thanks for that. For helping when Metcalf was... yeah. Sort of. A bit."

Cyrus and Jonah took a step back, as did Andi and Libby and Gus, each of them simultaneously deciding to give Buffy and Marty some space. Not a lot of space—they were all definitely planning on listening in—but still. Enough space that they wouldn't interfere.

"I'll take that," Marty shrugged, glancing down at his shoes before giving Buffy a lop-sided smile. "I meant it, though. What I said. You're pretty amazing, so..."

"Jesus, Foss..." Buffy shook her head, but Cyrus couldn't help but think that she looked just the smallest bit bashful. "You're just lucky it worked."

"Yeah, well..." and for one perilous second, as Marty inhaled deeply and straightened his back, Cyrus was suddenly filled with the worry that his biggest, dumbest friend was about to try to make a big, dumb move. He saw in slow motion as Buffy tensed, as her jaw set, and he knew—obviously—that something like that would only end in disaster.

And then Marty sighed. 

"I'm glad I could help."

An air of relief passed through the group of definitely-not-eavesdropping friends as Marty scratched at the back of his head, as Buffy relaxed into his nervous smile.

"Me too."

"Look, I, uh... I know you think I'm obnoxious—"

"Unbearable, actually," Buffy grinned, her words lacking any venom. "But continue."

"Yeah, right, I just... wanted to tell you that I'm trying. I'm gonna try. To be, y'know, better," Marty nodded as he chewed at his bottom lip. Cyrus couldn't remember ever seeing him so _uncool_. It looked good on him. "And I hope one day I'll be good enough."

Gus and Cyrus glanced between themselves, shooting questioning looks at Andi and Libby who shrugged in return. The last group of other students walked past, chatting about weekend plans as if they had no idea history was being made just a few feet away from them. As if they had no idea that they'd all just stepped into on of Cyrus's many parallel universes. The one where Marty Foss got through a conversation with a girl without making an ass of himself.

The one where Buffy Driscoll was speechless.

"Anyway... yeah." Marty shrugged, looking up with yet another lopsided smile as he began to walk toward the door. "See ya."

When the rest of them finally left, bags gathered and room cleared, Buffy was still standing in the middle of the common room. Staring at the mural, the board games, the foosball table. Hands clasped as she swiveled to look at her space. At their space.

Smiling.

_**Thursday, 5:32 PM** _

Cyrus was slotted against TJ's chest, face pressed into his boyfriend's shoulder, trying really hard to convince himself that he wasn't going to cry. A sentiment that lasted a full five seconds until TJ took a step back and brought his hands up to cradle Cyrus's cheeks. To rub his thumb on the stupid beauty mark under his eye. The tears started falling pretty quickly after that. It didn't matter that he was in public, that they were standing on the side of the street, waiting for the bus to arrive. He just couldn't help himself.

"Are you okay?" TJ's voice was soft, concern lacing his words as Cyrus shook his head between his boyfriend's hands. 

"I don't want you to go."

It was childish. He knew that. He'd spent every waking moment—outside of the Kira coffee date and school—by TJ's side since Friday night. It was stupid to imagine that it could have gone on forever. Foolish to think they could build their own little world on that lumpy futon. Because they both had lives outside of Cyrus's crappy apartment. It was just... the last three days—since their talk on Monday—had been so good.

So fucking good.

They talked constantly—TJ answering his questions and him answering TJ's—they watched movies, they ate dinner. They were together. Every night he'd been able to fall asleep with TJ's warmth pressed against his side. Or, on Tuesday, literally draped on top of him. It was intoxicating. It was addicting. He never wanted it to end.

"Hey." TJ leaned in, pressing their foreheads together with a soft, understanding smile—like he _got_ it. Which, if that was the case, why the fuck wasn't _he_ crying? Not that Cyrus wanted to make his boyfriend cry, but... "I'm only leaving because I haven't been home in a week. I've gotta see my parents some time."

Cyrus nodded, tears still leaking down his face, snot still running down his nose. Why in the world would TJ possibly want to leave such a beauty?

"And honestly, I cannot stand wearing any more of your clothes, Underdog."

The tears didn't stop, but for a moment a smile broke through them. Cyrus almost let out a laugh.

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Well the size for one," TJ gestured toward the hem of the shirt he was wearing, hunching his shoulders to make it ride up and reveal a few inches of... very attractive skin. "I feel like I'm about to be arrested for public indecency."

At that, Cyrus did let out a laugh.

"I think I like being able to see your navel whenever I want," he joked, reaching out to pull open the unzipped hoodie his boyfriend was wearing.

"Yeah, but you don't want everyone else to see," TJ grinned. "Someone might get jealous."

Cyrus nodded as TJ's smile grew. He was going to miss waking up to that smile.

TJ paused, already concerned when Cyrus's grin faltered.

"Are you sure you don't want to come trick-or-treating with me and Jonah?" It was on offer he already knew the answer to, but he just couldn't help himself. He didn't want this to end, even if it was only for a few days. "You don't have to have a costume. You can be our chaperone."

"I'm sorry, babe," TJ sighed, tracing his fingers across the expanse of Cyrus's neck to tangle his fingers into the fine hairs at the back. "I... I'm feeling better, but I don't think I could handle being out around so many people right now. I'm sorry—"

"No, it's okay," Cyrus shook his head, already berating himself for bringing it up. He didn't want to remind TJ of what he was missing. That wasn't his goal. "I just wanted to make sure. You... you're always welcome to Jonah's, just so you know. He, um... he really likes you."

"I'm glad I still have his seal of approval," TJ's grin spread over his cheeks, and Cyrus felt his heart flutter.

"And, also just so you, uh, know," Cyrus swallowed, unable to look away from that smile. Fuck, he loved that smile. "We're all getting together at The Spoon tomorrow to celebrate the common room reopening. No pressure, or anything! Just... if you're feeling up to it. That room belongs to you just as much as the rest of us."

"We'll... we'll see."

It was the best answer Cyrus could expect, and he knew that, he understood that, but all it really did was remind him that there was a good chance he might not see TJ for a few days.

Which... fuck.

"Hey," Suddenly TJ was hooking a finger under his chin, raising it up until they were looking each other eye to eye. "This isn't goodbye, okay? We'll be together before you know it."

"Yeah. I..." Cyrus nodded, swallowing down the words bubbling up in his chest. Pushing down the _'that's not soon enough.'_ "Yeah."

It was stupid. And childish. And foolish. He didn't want to give voice to just how much it terrified him, that the prospect of a few days apart was making him feel like this. He didn't want to admit how much he was dreading that time alone, how he was already thinking about how quiet the apartment would feel. 

"Hey," TJ was leaning down again, brushing their noses together in a soft, comforting gesture. Forcing Cyrus out of his own head. "Remember? We agreed. Minute by minute."

Cyrus nodded, sniffing back a tear as a smile forced itself onto his lips. Goddamnit. He should have known that would be used against him pretty quickly.

TJ leaned into him, their smiles meeting in a messy, tear-soaked kiss that was somehow horrible and amazing all at the same time. Cyrus knew what he meant. That he wasn't allowed to focus on a future he was afraid of because neither was TJ. That they weren't supposed to dwell on what they didn't get to have. That they had to live their lives in their universe. One minute at a time.

"Minute by minute," TJ repeated, and Cyrus nodded.

TJ kissed him again. They were in broad daylight on a busy street, and there was an old man sitting at the bus stop not two feet away, and neither of them gave a shit about any of that. They kissed each other, enjoying every minute, every second they could squeeze in. It wasn't a particularly heavy kiss, it didn't make Cyrus feel hot or filled with need. It was just them. Their connection, their acknowledgment that they were going to have to separate. For a bit. It was a kiss advancement, to get each other through their time apart. They kissed as TJ wiped the tears from Cyrus's cheek. They kissed as the squeal of the bus's breaks began to sound from halfway down the street. They kissed until their time was up.

The bus was on time. Because of course it was.

And then TJ gave him one last kiss, one filled with finality, and Cyrus felt his chest tighten. Felt it grow even tighter as TJ stepped back, as he turned to take a step onto the bus. Felt the ache begin to unfurl itself as his boyfriend turned around, one foot still on the sidewalk.

"Cyrus?"

"Yeah?" He wasn't... he couldn't—

TJ paused. For a quiet moment, he fixed his stare at the ground before looking back up with a blinding smile. It wasn't the biggest smile Cyrus had ever seen him give. It wasn't the brightest. But it was filled with so much...

"I love you."

And... yeah. Part of him felt like he should have been more surprised. Like he should have been stumbling back, struck speechless by the revelation. But that wasn't what was going through Cyrus's mind as TJ continued to smile at him. The only thing he was thinking was _'yes'_. Yes—he could see it in the way TJ's fingers were twitching, like they were desperate to reach out and grab him again. Yes—it was there in the flush of his still ruddying his cheeks. In the smile and the voice and the way he was still leaning halfway out of the bus just so he could be a little bit closer.

Yes.

And... yeah.

"I love you, too."

Because he did. Because he knew TJ loved him. Because that was all that mattered.

Cyrus's tears only fell harder when the bus doors finally closed—eventually, the bus driver had told TJ to get on or wait for the next one—but TJ never looked away. Never changed his mind. Never took back his words. He just kept staring, and smiling, nose pressed to the glass as they pulled into traffic. Until Cyrus couldn't see him anymore. Until the bus turned the corner and disappeared toward downtown.

He didn't stop crying until Jonah pulled up in his mom's SUV, a questioning smile on his face and a pair of dollar-store costumes in his back seat.

And he didn't stop smiling for a long time after that.

**_Thursday, 8:32 PM_ **

"I'll trade you all my Milky Ways for all your Reese's."

Cyrus pulled off his cheap plastic werewolf mask and stared down at the piles of candy they had poured onto the floor of Jonah's room. Beside him, his best friend—mummy costume already starting to rip apart at his shoulders—shuffled through their stash of fun-sized treats.

"You're out of your damn mind if you think I'm giving up any of this candy," Cyrus shook his head, reaching out to grab a Reese's and shove it in his mouth before Jonah could complain. "This is mine. _Mine!_ "

"Mmm," Jonah hummed, hopping onto his bed with a grin. "So you're eating all of it tonight, then?" "Don't be ridiculous. I'm eating half of it tonight. The rest is for this weekend." "Ah. Right," Jonah chuckled. "Hey—remember how much of a ball of sunshine you were when you were hungover?"

"To be honest, I'd prefer to forget that ever happened. Uh... why do you ask?"

"So, funny thing... the same thing can happen if you eat too much sugar."

Cyrus paused, mini-Snickers hanging halfway out of his mouth.

"Bull."

"I'm serious!" Jonah's laugh rang like a pleasant melody in his ear as Cyrus shoved the chocolate into his mouth while simultaneously narrowing his eyes into the most ferocious glare he could muster. "I mean, not the exact same, but still. You just never got to have enough sugar as a kid to find out!"

"Fuck you!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to help!" Jonah held his hands up, smile still wide on his lips.

"Well then get ready to bring me some sunglasses and ibuprofen tomorrow," Cyrus shrugged, pouring a bag of M&M's into his palm. "Because I'm gonna be eating this until I'm sick. I'm a free man, Jonah Beck. Nothing can stop me."

"Your funeral," Jonah shrugged, tossing an unwrapped Hershey's Kiss into the air and catching it in his mouth with ease. "As long as you're not poisoning yourself because of TJ again,".

"Thanks for the concern," Cyrus shook his head, tone dry but happy. "But this time it's just your run-of-the-mill poor impulse control." With a grunt, he pushed himself off the floor and fell onto the bed next to his friend. "TJ and I are... good, actually. We're really... really good."

"How's he doing, by the way? He feeling any better?"

"Yeah," Cyrus sighed. "Actually, he finally felt up to leaving the apartment today."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, he, uh... he went back to his parents' place tonight."

"Oh." Jonah sat up, pushing himself off his elbows to fix Cyrus with a concerned stare. "Is that bad? Because... the way you said that made it sound bad."

"No. No, it's fine—I mean, it's good. I just..." Cyrus sighed, collapsing onto the bed dramatically. "Is it lame to say that I miss him?"

"Sort of lame, yeah."

He glanced up from his position on the bed, taking in the image of his best friend looking down on him with a soft, goofy smile. Jonah's hair—disheveled from the costume's hood—was sticking up in every direction. His blue eyes shined as he bit down into a kid-sized Twizzler. Cyrus wondered how he looked to Jonah. Not physically—he was pretty sure the costume looked horrible on him—but, from the outside, what did his and TJ's relationship look like. As a third party, did their romance seem as intense as it felt to live it? Did Jonah 'swear-off-relationships' Beck think he was being ridiculous?

Was he being ridiculous?

"Can I tell you something?"

"Uh, dude," Jonah reached over to shove at Cyrus's shoulder. "Duh? How many times do I have to tell you that you can tell me literally anything?"

Cyrus took another moment to stare at his friend. The wide-eyed, expectant look on his face. The dimples that formed as he explained that he would help Cyrus hide any bodies that needed to be disappeared. The way he chucked a piece of candy at Cyrus's head when the younger teen took too long to respond.

He really was... 

"He told me that he loved me today. TJ did."

There was a pause, which he'd expected—though it lasted a bit longer than he'd planned for.

"Oh." It was amusing to watch Jonah falter, stumble off the tracks of the rant he'd been preparing to launch into to stare at Cyrus with a lost look in his eyes. "That's..."

"Big," Cyrus filled in the blank for his floundering friend. "Yeah. It... it felt big. It felt... like he meant it."

"I... Wow. What did... I mean—did you..."

"Say it back? Yeah." Cyrus looked down. Unable to keep the smile off his face as he remembered the way TJ's eyes had lit up. Unable to forget the way his whole body had rushed with a comfortable heat. "I did."

He busied himself with grabbing another handful of candy as he let his best friend digest all of... that.

"Woah."

"You sound surprised," Cyrus forced a nonchalant, joking-but-not tone. "What, you thought no one could love me?"

"No!" Jonah looked up, worried, then suddenly smiling as if he'd just been snapped out of a pleasant daydream. "No, Cy, that's awesome, I just... that's so not like you!"

"What do you mean, it's not like me?" Cyrus asked, suddenly feeling defensive as Jonah's smile grew wider. "I tell people I love them all the time!"

"I mean, you don't," Jonah countered, tossing a pack of SweetTarts at Cyrus's head. "You wouldn't even call Marty and Gus your 'friends' until you'd known them for months. But—shit, man! That's awesome! I'm happy for you."

"To your first point, fuck off," Cyrus rolled his eyes before settling into a pleasantly comfortable smile. "But... thanks."

"Of course, man. Just happy you're happy. I mean, I assume you're happy about this whole..."

"I am. Yeah." Cyrus nodded as Jonah reached across the bed to give his should a light, comforting squeeze. Happy. That felt like the understatement of the century. And also, somehow, the biggest twist of the century—Cyrus Goodman, happy. Who would have guessed? "But seriously, thanks, Jo."

"Not sure what for, but you are welcome."

"And... would you mind keeping this just between the two of us?" Cyrus rubbed at the back of his neck, leaning into the hand still on his shoulder. "I don't really want people to... you know..."

Gossip. Tell him they were too young. Tell him it was weird, or too soon, or crazy. He didn't need any of that—TJ definitely didn't need any of that—and it's not like it was anybody else's business anyway. They neede a chance to figure out what it all meant at their own pace. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.

"Yeah. Of course, man."

"Sweet."

The next piece of chocolate Cyrus brought to his mouth that night tasted especially sweet. As did the next one. And the next. There was still a part of him that wished that TJ had tagged along—a rather large part of him, to be honest—but the sadness was missing. The yearning was still there, but it didn't make his heart want to fucking crumble. He knew that TJ needed to go home. He knew that time apart was probably healthy for their still-young relationship. He knew that TJ wasn't in a good place to be dragged around from house to house across Jonah's neighborhood. 

And he could accept that. 

Just like he could accept—without any shame—that he couldn't wait until the time when he _could_ finally bring TJ along. That he was excited to find out what TJ's favorite candy was—because even if he didn't have a sweet tooth, he had to like have one favorite sweet, right? That he was excited to share his bed again, and excited to see that smile, and feel those arms wrap around him. Missing TJ sucked, but looking forward to seeing him again?

That wasn't so bad.

"So. You're staying the night, right?" Jonah asked around a mouthful of peanut butter and chocolate. 

"Only if I get your bed—I refuse to sleep on yet another couch, or air mattress, or anything like that, thank you very much. My spine will literally revolt." With an exaggerated groan and a hand pressed against his lower back, Cyrus pushed himself up onto his elbow.

"Okay, hold up—I love you man, but you are not kicking me out of my own bed."

"Please!" Jonah only shook his head as Cyrus leaned forward, hands clasped as he pouted. "Jo, c'mon. I haven't slept on a real made-for-humans mattress in over a month now. I'm dying. I will literally die. And it's Halloween, so you know I'll come back to haunt your ass!"

"Fine," Jonah chuckled, reaching back to grab a pillow to throw at Cyrus's head. "Fine! But I'm not dragging out the air mattress. We can share my bed."

"You sure?" Cyrus asked, quickly sitting up from his begging posture, unable to keep the smile off his cheeks. A bed. A real bed! "I feel like I should warn you. TJ tells me that I'm very clingy when I sleep. Don't want you to wake up all... freaked out cause you're suddenly my little spoon."

"Uh, excuse you. I think we both know that I'm the big spoon in this friendship."

"Uh, excuse _you_ ," Cyrus scoffed, throwing his overnight bag at Jonah's head. "You fuckin' wish."

**_Friday, 4:48 PM_ **

The Spoon was remarkably busy, considering it was a Friday afternoon and the day after Halloween. Somehow, the decorations had already been removed—witches and ghosts and spiderwebs disappeared before any of them had arrived—and the diner was back to it's normal, almost-cliche 50's decor. The Jefferson students had been able to claim a back corner as their own, twenty or so teens milling from table to booth to bar, chatting and laughing and enjoy one of the many signature milkshakes The Spoon had on offer. At least, that's what Cyrus was doing.

The milkshakes. Not the milling around, being social thing.

Cyrus was comfortable in his booth. He had a halfway-full chocolate milkshake, a mostly empty basket of baby taters, and the perfect vantage point to people watch. He saw the senior who was offering pours from his secret—and apparently bottomless—flask to anyone who brought over their drink. He saw the techy sophomore who'd helped them achieve wifi getting _very_ up close and personal with an obviously receptive brunette. He saw Jonah chatting with Andi, and Libby arguing with Walker—the poor guy looked completely out of his depth—and at least three teens walk up and hand Gus money for... some reason.

From his perch in the corner of the booth, he watched his friends, he watched how happy they looked—even Libby, who was giving Walker the stink-eye—and he couldn't keep the grin from curling at his lips. The spirit of victory filled the room, its warmth somehow keeping out the cold that threatened to sweep in every time a new customer opened the door.

He wasn't looking forward to waiting for the bus in that freezing wind once it was time to head back home. Which was fairly soon—Cyrus checked the time on his phone with a sigh—he'd to head out momentarily if he wanted to get back in time for...

_Amber: Change of plans, I won't be able to do dinner tonight_

_Amber: Sorry!_

Cyrus chewed at his lip as he reread the message. Since Monday—since TJ came out of the worst of his episode—Amber and Reed and Lester had all been surprisingly thoughtful about giving the two of them enough space. Making sure TJ didn't get overwhelmed with their chaos, making sure Cyrus had some alone time with his boyfriend. It was nice. Almost uncomfortably considerate, in fact—Cyrus had made a point of trying to plan a dinner with Amber both as thanks, and to get things back to normal before he freaked out.

But it seemed plans had changed.

_Cyrus: Everything ok?_

_Amber: Yeah! Just grabbing dinner with my parents._

In an instant, Cyrus's smile came back full force. Leave it to Amber to try to slip in something like that without comment. Taking another sip of his milkshake, Cyrus put aside his instinct to tease her and—given what he knew about the delicacy of the situation—opted for some gentle encouragement.

_Cyrus: Have fun. Let me know if you need anything. Dont stay out too late_

"Cyrus!"

His moment of quiet, contemplative introspection ruined, Cyrus looked up from his phone to see a very harried looking Gus sitting across from him. At the end of the table, wrist held in Gus's grip, stood a very pouty, very despondent looking Marty Foss.

"Yes?"

"Cyrus Goodman, tell our friend how attractive he is!" Gus demanded, fist pounding the table and nearly sending the milkshake glass toppling into Cyrus's lap.

"Uh..." Cyrus glanced at his friend, who was apparently preoccupied with one of the couples making out in the corner booth. "No. You tell him."

"I did!" Gus sounded exasperated as he pulled Marty into the booth with a grunt. "He won't believe me!"

"What makes you think he'll believe me?" Cyrus shouted, equally exasperated, as he pulled his basket of baby taters to his side of the table.

"Because you actually find guys attractive!"

"Fuck you! Not him!" Cyrus laughed, more out of disbelief than anything else. "I'm sorry, Marty," he shook his head, turning to face their friend, "you're just not my type."

"Uh... that's bull," Gus scoffed.

"What's that supposed to mean!"

"It means—"

"Excuse me." A new voice, feminine and soft, surprised them both into silence. "You're, um, Marty, right? From the party?"

Standing at the end of the table, blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail, a bright slightly-nervous smile on her lips, was Maria. Iris's friend. Pretty much the last person Cyrus ever expected to speak to him again.

But, then again, she wasn't speaking to _him_.

"Uh—um, yes?" Marty looked up, pout suddenly replaced with puppy-like confusion and eagerness. "I... hi—yes, I'm Marty."

"Yeah! I thought I recognized you," Maria's grin grew a bit more confident as she nodded her head.

"Yeah!" Marty echoed. "I, uh... I mean—what... what is up?" The nerves in Marty's voice were obvious, and Cyrus could see him struggling to swallow as he stared at Maria like she was an angel descended from heaven. It was very entertaining.

And from the looks Gus kept shooting him over the table, he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Oh, I just... I mean, I saw what you said to Metcalf at the common room," Maria swayed a bit as she spoke, hands twisting against each other near her hip. "I thought that was really brave."

"Oh. Oh! I, uh... thank you."

"And I realized, I never really got to thank you for helping me that night at Libby's, right?" She waited a moment to let Marty nod enthusiastically. "So... would you maybe want to go out some time?"

"Would I...?" Cyrus could actually see the moment that the reality of the situation clicked in Marty's mind. Could see when his eyes widened and his energy suddenly became much, much more manic. "With you? I—go out?"

"Yeah!" Maria nodded, still smiling, even laughing a little as Marty leaned forward. "Or—I mean, if you're free this weekend, my parents are actually out of town, so..."

Cyrus could tell that Gus was punching Marty's leg under the table, the excitement apparently too much for him to handle. And honestly, Cyrus couldn't blame him. He honestly never thought he'd see the day when—

"No. Actually, I, uh... I'm sorry. I can't."

The day when Marty Foss would turn down a girl...

"You... Oh." Maria looked taken aback, her smile faltering, her hands falling to hang by her side as she leveled a confused stare at the teen sitting in the booth. "You can't?"

"Yeah, I..." Marty, looking almost as pained as Cyrus was astounded, shook his head slowly. "I can't. I... I promised someone that I would, um—anyway, I'm sorry."

The disbelieving silence that fell over the table pretty much spoke for itself.

_Holy shit._

"Alright then..." Looking suddenly relieved, if not extremely confused, Maria took a few quick steps back before disappearing across the room, into another booth. At the edge of the table, Cyrus thought he saw one of Iris's weird science blouses, and—oh great, yet another thing to make things weird between them.

"Holy shit. Dude?" Gus leaned over, snapping his fingers in front of Marty's face, literally snapping the older teen out of whatever reverie he had been lost in as Maria walked away. "Are you, um—I mean. You... are..."

When, exactly, had Buffy shown up?

"Marty."

Cyrus and Marty both did a double-take as Buffy positioned herself at the end of the table, exactly where Maria had stood just a few seconds before. An impatient, already conflicted look on her face as she eyed their table with suspicion.

"Buffy! I, um... how's it going? Nice celebration, don't you—"

"Did you know I was sitting behind you?"

"No? I mean—No!" Marty pushed himself up onto his knees, glanced over the back of the booth to awkwardly wave at the people Buffy had apparently been talking to. Cyrus leaned over far enough to be able to see a Junior girl he knew from Calculus nodding at Marty slowly.

"Cyrus, did he know?"

"What?" Cyrus's head snapped up to meet an appraising glare from Buffy. "I don't think so? How the fuck am I supposed to know!"

"Well, at least I know you're not lying," Buffy shrugged before turning back to a very confused looking Marty. "Alright. I may just regret this, but... tomorrow night. Are you free?"

Okay, now this was officially some weird spinoff universe. Cyrus was just about one-hundred percent convinced he was dreaming.

"Yes?" For some reason, Marty glanced over his shoulder, looking to a very confused Gus for approval before turning back to face Buffy. "Yes! Yes, I am free."

"Okay, then," Buffy nodded, pulling out her phone. "I will... text you."

"Holy shit," Gus whispered, voice growing louder as Buffy began to walk away. "Look at you, Foss! Killin' it with the—"

"What does that mean, she'll text me?" Marty interrupted, looking to Gus and Cyrus with hopeful, panic-stricken confusion. "What does that—Buffy! Buffy, what do you mean!"

Before Buffy was even halfway across their area, Marty was pushing himself out of the booth, calling after her with repeated, repeatedly ignored requests for clarification.

"You should probably go after him," Cyrus laughed out as Gus watched Marty trip over an empty chair. "Make sure he doesn't screw this up in record time."

"Yeah, that's... probably a good idea."

With Gus departing to save Marty from himself and his peaceful sanctuary restored, Cyrus settled back into the corner of the booth to return to his observations. And to finish his milkshake. That close to the window, he could feel the cold beginning to seep warmth away from his arm, from his back. The milkshake was probably not the best idea in the world—even if it was an integral part of his standard order—but there was no way he was going to let it go to waste. Besides, he could just get something warm to cancel it out. As he began to debate whether there was any way he'd be able to convince Andi to buy him a hot chocolate—she could be very giving when she felt like it—he almost didn't notice the sudden presence of someone new sliding into the booth next to him.

Until a pair of wind-chilled lips pressed themselves against his cheek.

"Teej! What are you doing here?"

Cyrus let himself be pulled into a hug, let TJ steal some of his warmth as he pushed his boyfriend's hood back to reveal an eye-crinkling smile. 

Fuck, he was so gone for that smile.

"We said minute by minute, yeah?" TJ shrugged before squeezing Cyrus even tighter. Without thinking, Cyrus tangled their legs together and leaned into the hug. Already, the smile on his face was making his cheeks hurt.

"I believe so."

"Well, since I last saw you, I owe you..." He watched as TJ glanced down at his hand, where a few rough calculations appeared to have been inked, "One thousand, three hundred and ninety-six minutes."

"Is that so?" Cyrus smiled, letting TJ pull him a little bit more onto his lap.

"Well you might want to check my math, but..." he shrugged again before wrapping his arms fully around Cyrus's waist.

"Well dang." Cyrus teased. "That's a lot of minutes, isn't it?"

"Quite a lot," TJ grinned.

"Any idea how you'll give 'em back to me?"

This was absolutely not what he'd meant when he said 'minute by minute,' but there was absolutely no way he was going to complain about it. And if there was one thing Cyrus was happy to confirm, it was that it was just as much fun to flirt with his boyfriend now as it had been when they had just met.

"I think I have some ideas."

TJ's lips tasted like mint gum and winter as they came down to meet Cyrus's, an unbeatable combination with the hint of chocolate ice cream still dancing on his tongue. He let himself relish in the feel of TJ's lips on his, in the joy of it, as TJ laughed against him and trailed a few icy fingers through his hair. It was amazing—it felt amazing, the way his heart fluttered in his chest and his stomach somersaulted pleasantly. Comfortable and new all at the same time—he couldn't get enough. Could never get enough. Somewhere his brain began to remind him that they were in a public diner, that they needed to stop before things got to public-indecency, that at least one of his friends was likely collecting blackmail at that very moment.

But he told that part of his brain to shut the fuck up.

"Alright, lovebirds." He wasn't sure how long they'd been, well... absorbed when Andi's voice finally broke them out of their not-so-private world. "You two done making out?"

"Oh, definitely not," TJ chuckled, pressing his face into the crook of Cyrus's neck unabashedly.

"Okay, well, we're going to do a toast in, like... five minutes. Think you can come up for air long enough to handle that?"

"No promises," TJ's muffled voice responded, sending a chuckle bubbling out of Cyrus's throat.

"We'll be there," Cyrus assured, leaning into whatever TJ was doing to his neck and not feeling nearly as embarrassed as he probably should have. "Promise."

"Alright, well... you two are ridiculous," Andi rolled her eyes. "Just remember: five minutes."

"I said we'll be there," Cyrus insisted around another bout of giggles, trying to act like TJ wasn't currently attached to his neck and making the _best fucking shivers_ run down his spine. Trying to ignore the look Andi gave him as she left their booth to rejoin her conversation with Jonah and Buffy.

"Just give us a minute."


End file.
